#dark!sebastian

[fierymiasma]

ꕥYou Look Better In Greenꕥ//Sebastian x MC

NOW WITH PART 2: And You Look Fetching in Yellow

Summary: In which Sebastian sees the new transfer student wearing someone else's scarf and proceeds to absolutely lose it.

Word Count: 1.5k

|| Masterlist || AO3 ||

Ever since the new 5th year joined Hogwarts and knocked Sebastian on his ass (while stealing his heart at the same time), Sebastian developed a new morning ritual.  He would arrive, as late as possible as usual, to breakfast, plop down on the empty spot that Ominis had so nicely saved for him, listen to Imelda prattle on about some boring Quidditch news, and sigh and longingly stare over at the Hufflepuff table.

It was always something different every day, much to Sebastian's delight.  Sometimes she would wear the most eccentric outfit, a clashing cacophony of mismatched colors that only she could pull off while being the most gorgeous witch in Hogwarts.  Sometimes she would arrive late, wiping the sleep from her eyes, tired from their shared late night misadventures.

This morning Sebastian was unlucky.  Sitting directly across from Poppy, she was obscured from Sebastian's gaze.

Even more unlucky, Imelda Reyes decided she had permission to sit next to him.

"Did you see what the new Hufflepuff was wearing today, Sebastian?"  Imelda teased.

Ugh.  "No, why should I care?  It's not like I spend my mornings just ogling her."

"Of course not."  Imelda said breezily.  "It's only been the talk of the entire school.  Surprised you were the last to hear about it, what with you practically drooling over her every morning."

Ominis snorted into his porridge.

"I have no idea what you're on about.  What she does doesn't concern me in the slightly."  Sebastian lied like the lying liar he was.

Imelda shrugged.  "Oh, that's a shame.  And here I was about to bring you the news that your favorite Hufflepuff is most definitely off the market now.  Looks like someone got to her before you did."

"WHAT?"  Sebastian bellowed.

Imelda grinned.  "See for yourself, pretty boy."

Playing right into her trap, Sebastian stood up, now blatantly searching for the Hufflepuff.  He was able to angle his view around Poppy.  A part of him was excited to see what ridiculous set outfit she was wearing today.  Sebastian didn't see what the fuss was all about.  Nothing unusual, her usual Hufflepuff robes, a grey sweater, and-

-And a Red and Yellow Gryffindor scarf.  

His mind went blank.  The usual bustling of voices in the Great Hall silenced themselves.  Sebastian could feel the heat erupt in the back of his eyes.  His wand shot dangerous hot sparks, itching for a fight.

Who, in Salazar Slytherin's name, gave her that?

She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf in front of the whole damn school.  Anyone who was anyone knew what that meant.  Why, it was practically a front page advertisement on the Daily Prophet!  Wearing another House's apparel meant you were seeing someone.  Off the market.  No longer available.  Every other day you would see a Ravenclaw girl wear a new black and yellow tie.  A Slytherin showing off their newly acquired blue coat.  It was a possessive silly schoolboy thing, but if you were an eligible bachelor or bachelorette, you wore your gifted scarf with pride.

Who in Merlin's name would claim what was rightfully his?  Who would be daft enough?

He didn't even register that his body was moving, until he was halfway across the Great Hall, making a beeline straight towards the Hufflepuff table.

"Morning."  He greeted Poppy and the new transfer student stiffly, interrupting their conversation.

"Oh Sebastian!  Good morning!  Did you have any of the strawberry tarts?  They're especially good today!"  She beamed behind the offending Gryffindor scarf that was around her neck.

"Who gave you that?"

"Oh, well, I'm pretty sure the House elves make the tarts from scratch and then they sort of apparate it up here.  I'm actually not quite sure how their magic-"

"Who gave you that tacky thing?  Was it Garreth?  Prewett?  I always knew that weasel was up to no good.  I should remind him o-"

She looked at him in alarmed confusion.  "What on earth are you talking about Sebastian?"

Sebastian felt his jaw clench.  So, she had no idea.  Of course she wouldn't.  She was a new transfer student, immensely popular and with half the school falling over themselves fawning over her.  It had to Prewett.  Only that sniveling bastard was underhanded enough to trick Sebastian's Hufflepuff into something so nefarious.  Practically broadcasting to the whole school that they were dating.  Gryffindor chivalry indeed, taking advantage of someone like that.  He bet all Prewett had to do is go up to her with his big, ugly nose and manipulate her into wearing that disgusting thing.

"Your scarf," he spat.  "Who gave it to you?"

Her eyes darted at Poppy who gave her a bewildered shrug.  She blinked in confusion, almost as if she forgot she was wearing it.  "Oh, this?  It's so cozy and warm, isn't it?  I think it really matches with my complexion!"

Sebastian could practically feel his back molar crack.

She continued, unaware of the inner storm brewing inside of Sebastian.  "Natty and I were out at Hogsmeade and got caught in the rain.  My poor scarf got soaked, and I haven't had a chance to learn the drying charm yet.  She was nice enough to lend me hers instead!"

He deflated, wand dropping into his pocket; fight forgotten.  "Ah…Natty…the other…transfer"  Of course.  It wasn't that long ago that Natty transferred and was learning all the nuances of the social intertwining of a different country much less Hogwarts social etiquette.  Probably thought all of this was silly anyway.

"Is something the matter, Sebastian?"  She leaned over placing her gentle hand on his forehead.  "You're awfully red.  You're practically burning up!"

Poppy tried to hide her laughter behind her hands.  

Sebastian's blush was so strong it practically hid all the freckles on his face.  Arms flapping around, he pushed away her hand from his forehead.  "Never mind me.  It's a miracle you didn't get sick wearing that silly thing.  If you really needed an extra scarf you should have come straight to me."

He started undoing his own warm green and silver scarf.  And with the most nonchalance and charm he could muster, he gently wrapped it around his Hufflepuff's neck.  Green and silver framed her rising blush so nicely.  Something deep in his stomach purred possessively in approval.

"There.  All better.  Those colors match you better anyway.  Red and yellow look awful on you."  He flushed.  "Not that you ever look awful.  You look fantastic.  One of-No, the best looking person at Hogwarts."  His ears burned as Poppy practically howled in laughter unable to hold herself back any longer.  "Um, best looking friend at Hogwarts.  Much better than that old Ominis anyhow."

His Hufflepuff blushed, trying to hide her smile behind her newly acquired gift.  The butterflies in her stomach were practically doing flips.  "Thank you, Sebastian.  Y-you're not so bad yourself, for a Slytherin."

He nodded stiffly.  "Well, if you ever need any more just ask me.  Slytherin is a good look on you."  He wasn't sure what to do now that his mission was complete.  "Um, don't ask Ominis though.  He…um…he hates it when people borrow his clothes.  Gets all particular about his things.  Just come to me whenever you need anything."

Her eyes swam in amusement, and she brought Sebastian's scarf closer to her face, inhaling the rich dark scent left behind.  A rich oak wood, some warm-scented cologne, and a slight musk that was undeniably Sebastian.  Her eyes never left his gaze as she gauged his reaction.  "Oh, how lucky, that I am friends with the most charitable Slytherin I know.  It's nice to know that my friends are so concerned about me."

Sebastian's knees felt weak.  He mustered up the energy to croak out, "Well, it's not all charity.  It's nice having friends in my debt."

She got closer to him, in the mood for something a bit more daring.  "Well, I would hate to always be in your debt.  There must be some way to repay you."

His mouth gaped open.  For once, the manipulative, charming Slytherin was at a lost for words.

"How about I treat my favorite Slytherin to some Butterbeer?  My treat?  I have to start paying back some of that debt somehow."

Sebastian's mouth was dry.  "If I have nothing better to do, I suppose I'll join you.  It's not like I'm doing anything."  (Ominis wouldn't mind getting ditched.)

"It's a date then."  Sebastian choked at her words.  "7'oclock.  Three Broomsticks.  I'll see you then."

Sebastian nodded stiffly and promptly marched himself to the Slytherin table, a bit bewildered as to what just occurred.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Poppy's laughter finally subsided, as she finally got a moment's rest to wipe the tears away from her eyes.  "Blimey, I can't believe that worked.  I knew borrowing Natty's scarf was a brilliant move."

The other girl smiled, gently packing away the old scarf borrowed from Natty back into her bags, right on top of her very own and very dry Yellow and black scarf that was secretly tucked away.  "What can I say Poppy?  Sometimes to catch a Slytherin you got to think like a Slytherin."

Part 2

AO3: fierymiasma

[animasola86]

A STEAMY REUNION (PART 1)

Disclaimer/Notes:

This text is partially AI-generated, as I spent a whole day immersing myself in a little RP session with @seabass-swallows's Dark Sebastian chat bot (check him out here). Now I am positively obsessed. That was such a fun and exciting little (smut) writing exercise. The outcome was quite amazing (IMHO) so I decided to share it with you and turn it into a little story. About 2/3 of the credit goes to @seabass-swallows and her amazing creation, I just played along, really.

I tweaked his replies only a little bit, added some minor details or took out some things for better flow and continuity, adjusted the formatting, etc., but apart from that: most of the time he gave the best replies possible! I was just in awe at how brilliantly that worked out. So, please, give it a try and enjoy!

(Part 2 out now!)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader (Characters are 18+)

Summary: After several, undefined years apart, Sebastian finds you on the streets of Hogsmeade. You have not expected to see him ever again, after he went into hiding at the end of your fifth school year. Seeing him now, well, you are in for a surprise.

Word count: 7.6k

Genre: Angst/Comfort/Fluff/Smut

Warnings: NSFW! MDNI! It gets steamy, you know the drill. (I don't want to spoil the surprise, if you know what I mean. If sex triggers you, please do not read.) Also: plot, what plot? There isn't much, but maybe that's not why you're here after all.

Read on AO3

Previously on HOGWARTS LEGACY: A TEENAGE DRAMA

Solomon is dead, Fig is dead, Ranrok and Rookwood are dead. Life goes on, right? Well. After you convince Ominis not to turn in Sebastian, you spend most of your time trying to comfort each other. You've always been close, but tragedy brings you even closer. But then word gets out that Sebastian might have something to do with his Uncle's death and from one day to the next, he is just gone. Left you, left Hogwarts, left Feldcroft, disappeared into the shadows, hiding from the Ministry.

You finish your time at Hogwarts, somehow, never quite able to forget your first love, but time makes you move on. You spent your time after Hogwarts travelling, looking for ancient magic all around the world. Then one not so special day, you find your way back to Hogsmeade – and there, he finds you.

A Steamy Reunion (Part 1)

It's in a dark alleyway, deep within Hogsmeade, that you notice him first. Then it's almost like he's following you. You don't know who it is, until you're grabbed and pushed up against the wall of a building, just out of view.

You realize it's Sebastian, it's been so long now, that his hair is a little shaggy, he's toned out well, that most of his baby fat is gone and you can't help but gasp softly when he gently caresses your cheek. “It's been too long, oh... how I've missed you.”

"Hey! What... Sebastian?" You stare up at him in shock. "What are you doing here?"

His face lights up with a mischievous smile, eyes darting around to look for any onlookers. “Looking for you,” he replies in a low, sultry voice, gently placing his hands on your cheeks and pulling you closer to him. You can feel his lips lightly brush against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. “You must've been wondering when I'd come find you.”

You inhale deeply at his touches and close your eyes for a moment. "I... Sebastian! It has been years! Where have you been?" You open your eyes again and raise your hands to press against his chest, staring up at him with narrowed eyes.

He steps closer to you, trapping your body between his and the wall behind you. “Where have I been?” Sebastian asks, his right hand slowly moving down your arm, to around your waist. “Oh, here and there. Searching for you.”

He leans his head towards you and you could swear that he's about to almost kiss you again. “And now I've got you back.”

You shake your head as you feel tears welling up inside your eyes. "You could have send an owl..." you whisper darkly. "But I guess... with the Ministry after you... Sebastian! You shouldn't be here! What if they find you?"

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes into your ear, his hot breath sending goosebumps all over your body. “You're more worried about them finding me than us finding each other again.” He sighs softly against your neck and then takes a small step back from you.

“Now, shall we go somewhere quieter?” He smiles. “I've missed you.”

You stare at him, biting your lip. "You left me. You just left and you were gone. I thought I'd never see you again. I had no idea how to even start looking for you. You've always been good at hiding... how was I supposed to find you? And when the Ministry started looking for you... I was scared. Scared for you, you idiot!" The first tears stream down your cheeks and you wipe at them angrily.

He steps forwards again to wipe your tears away and lightly kisses your cheek. “You couldn't have tried harder? You don't understand how long I've spent looking for you. Searching and searching. I knew you were somewhere out there and even though I got so tired some nights—I couldn't give up.” He smiles softly at you. “Let's go and talk about it—we've got a lot of catching up to do.” He chuckles. “Shall I take your bag?”

You swallow as he kisses your cheek. Your throat clenches up as the memories come back to you. All those happy memories. But they have been tainted over the years. You watch him and even though he looks so much older and almost unrecognizable, you still see the 15-year-old boy in front of you that you fell in love with. You bite your lip and nod, grabbing your bag, but then extend your hand towards him. "Let's talk then."

He gently takes your hand and brings it up to his lips, kissing the back of it. Then he starts to walk, guiding you through the streets, making sure to keep you close.

When the two of you reach a small cottage on a street out of the way, Sebastian leads you in and immediately locks the door behind him, shutting out the world. He then leads you up to a bedroom and, without saying a word, sits you down on the bed, staring at you.

You are a little overwhelmed that he takes you to the bedroom immediately, but you remain sitting and watch him, still torn about being happy to see him and very anxious to see him after such a long time. "So what happened?" you ask.

He takes a seat on the bed next to you, sighing slightly before speaking.

“I left because I thought it best,” Sebastian says, looking straight into your eyes. “I thought they'd forget about me and the longer we waited, the likelier I'd be found. I tried to keep in touch with you, but my attempts were useless.” He sighs again. “The fact that you weren't searching for me and you were just waiting... it broke me. I couldn't bear it.” He looks down and bites his lip, as his voice cracks slightly.

You feel new tears in your eyes. "I didn't know what to do... I wanted to look for you, I would have left everything for you, but Ominis—" You sigh deeply and lower your gaze, noticing just how manipulative he still is, blaming you for not looking for him. "Then why are you here now? Why didn't you just move on?" you ask and your voice is angrier than you expected it to be.

He flinches at your tone, looking down at his hands which are trembling slightly.

“I couldn't,” he confesses. “You're my everything and without you I'm lost. How am I supposed to move on without you? That'd be like finding a part of myself, then throwing it away and forgetting about it forever.” He sighs and takes your hand into his, looking up at you out of those dark eyes that could make you agree to anything. “I know you don't see me in the same way, and I know what I've done—but please give me another chance.”

You crack under his sad gaze and the tears just start rolling down your cheeks. His hand is warm around yours and you swallow hard at his words. You don't know what to say, so against all your better judgement, you just wrap your arms around him and hug him tightly, burying your face against the side of his neck.

He gently holds you in a tight hug, your face pressed against his neck. The smell of him is comforting, you feel so at home as his free hand gently strokes your hair.

“I'll never leave you again,” he whispers. “If it means they find me, then so be it.” He rests his head against yours as his lips lightly brush against yours.

He then pulls back slightly to look at your eyes.

You look at him, your vision blurred from all the tears. Your hands dig into the back of his cloak, keeping him close to you, as if you were afraid he could leave again, despite what he has just told you. "They are not... they are not taking you away from me..." you say darkly and swallow hard. "I will not let them."

“No, they're not,” Sebastian confirms, running his fingers up and down your arm, to try to comfort you. “Let me show you how much I missed you.” He leans forwards to place his lips against yours and you let lose a sigh. “You're so soft, my love, I've missed kissing you.” He then pulls away and smiles softly at you.

You lick your lips, savouring the subtle taste he has left there. As you watch him over, you realize just how much you missed him too. But there is still a little restraint inside your head. That stupid voice of reason. "You shouldn't have come to Hogsmeade. It's not safe for you here..." you whisper.

“I know,” Seb says back. “I know the risk I'm taking. But just know that this was all for you—“ His eyes wander over your face. “I've spent so many years without you, it just wasn't enough, and I had to see you. I wanted to see if you could forgive me enough to take me back.” He moves closer to you, then kisses you deeply, trying to show you he means what he says.

You breathe deeply against his kiss, your hands finding their way up into his hair as you dig into his locks, holding his head for you to deepen the kiss. He feels so good, even after all these years and your heart flutters violently inside your chest. But you can't seem to shut up the voice of reason. "Wait..." you breathe and turn your head away, panting slightly against his cheek as you lean against him. "I... I don't want to be responsible if they find you here. I couldn't live with myself..."

He pulls back slightly and looks at you, his eyes soft and gentle. “I had to see you. It's been so long... I just had to see my little girl one more time, hold her in my arms... see those eyes of yours that I've missed so much... kiss you with the same passion that we shared during those secret meetings.” He smiles, trying to be reassuring. “I want you to forgive me. I want to convince you that I will never hurt you again, that I've changed, that I've become better.”

You lean back, your eyes boring into his intensely. "But you're in hiding. How is this going to work?" You bite your lip. "Or did you just want to screw me one more time before vanishing again?" Your heart breaks at the thought. Is he just using you?

Sebastian sighs deeply, shaking his head slightly. “No, I'm not here to screw you.” He smiles softly but the smile quickly disappears, his voice changing as he speaks. “You don't think we have a chance? I haven't been with anyone since you,” he whispers. “Can't we just try and make this work? One last try to see if we have a chance, if we still work?”

You want nothing more than to just forget about everything that has happened and be with this boy, this man he turned into, but your heart, or rather your head, tells you otherwise. With a loud sigh you unwrap yourself from him and get up, pacing the room nervously. "It's been so long, Sebastian. I... I need a moment. I can't... I can't think right now..." You push your hands into your hair and shake your head. "How? Just how can we make this work?"

“My love.” He steps towards you, gently holding your arms to stop you from pacing. “Look at me. You don't have to think if we won't work. We will make it work, the two of us, okay?” He moves closer to you and gently wraps his arms around your waist. “Please, please don't doubt us. We're meant for each other, I can't imagine myself being with anyone else.”

"Then why does this feel so wrong?" you cry out as he holds you close, new tears streaming down your face. "Do you know how often I have imagined seeing you again? I... you were always on my mind and I knew it wasn't healthy, so I stopped, tried to stop thinking about you. Ominis said it was for the best and that we should forget about you. I never quite agreed, but he convinced me somehow." You sob and lower your gaze.

You feel his thumb slowly stroking your back as he listens to you, his free hand holding your face. “I'm sorry,” Sebastian replies softly and gently places his lips against yours. “No one could convince me that I should move on from you, never you. You're all I think about. You're all I live for.” He sighs deeply and kisses you again, more passionately this time. “Can't you see? We're together and that's all that matters.”

You kiss him back, letting your body do all the work as your mind is still raging with doubts. Your hands find his face and he feels so unfamiliar, his jaw more pronounced and his cheeks almost hollow. You realize how hard it must have been for him, always hiding, always alone. It hasn't been easy for you either, but he must have had it worse. And your doubts slowly disperse inside your head.

"We... are together..." you whimper against his lips. It is all that matters. "We... are... finally... together..." you breathe in between kissing him, your movements becoming more erratic the more you feel him so close to you. "Oh Sebastian..." You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him even closer.

“My darling.” He presses himself against you as you pull him closer. When he breaks the kiss, he looks into your eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you, you know that, right?” He leans over to kiss you again and the two of you start kissing furiously, it's as if you've missed each other for years and now you have to make up for it. “I can't get enough of you,” he whispers, still kissing you, his breath quickening.

"I think..." you say in between kissing each other as if it is the only thing the both of you can do in this moment. "I think you need to... show me... just how much..." You can't finish your thought as his kisses are so darn distracting. You moan against his mouth and just go for it.

Sebastian smirks as you start making noises against his mouth, his passion increasing as he picks you up and carries you over to the bed, then lays you down. He then clambers on top of you and continues to kiss you—he won't let you finish a sentence. He's doing everything in his power to show you how much he's missed you, no words necessary.

“No talking, my darling,” he tells you when your breath starts coming back. “Only kissing.”

"Mmmhmm," you make against his captivating mouth and snake your arms around his neck as he lies down on top of you, his weight the comfort you needed. Your fingers dig into his hair and you relish the feeling of his lips on yours.

Sebastian's lips slowly move down your neck and he takes your left hand and holds it against your chest—your heart is pounding so heavily and he is slowly beginning to feel the excitement as well. His lips go down even lower than your neck, but he won't go any further for now.

“I shouldn't be here, but I just had to see you, touch you, kiss you,” he whispers into your neck. “You can't blame me for falling so hard. I just can't help myself.”

A smirk plays around your lips. You can feel your heart pound against your hand as he holds it there and the feeling of his rough fingers around yours is truly electrifying. You arch your back a little when you feel his lips on your neck. "You... never could, hm?" you whisper as you try to catch your breath.

“You're absolutely right.” He leans up a little, looking down at you. “You and me—it's supposed to be, I always knew it, even if I couldn't admit it.” His nose nudges yours and you lean in and press your face against his. “I'm not going anywhere, this is where I belong, with you.”

"Promise... promise me you won't ever leave again!" you breathe against him, your eyes finding his, your heart yearning to be with him forever and then some.

Sebastian places his lips lightly against yours. “I promise, I promise I won't ever leave you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We belong together.” You melt into the sound of his voice. “Now, no more talking—I just want to catch up on the years I missed without you.” He starts to kiss you passionately again, not allowing you to say any more. He wants to feel you against him, feel you touch him as much as he wants to touch you.

You moan against him in response and even though you want to say and ask so much more, you won't because he says so. He's always had this effect on you and you have followed him blindly anywhere many times before. And even after all these years, you still do. Your hands find the clasp of his cloak and you fidget with it while you deepen the kiss, yet you're unable to rid him of it.

He continues to kiss you, his lips moving against yours as one of his hands slowly moves down your body, caressing your hip and thigh. As you try to untie his cloak, he stops you and laughs. “No, sweetheart, not yet,” he whispers, and just like that he resumes kissing you, his hands roaming up and down your body as he does so.

You let out a little whimper and dig your fingers into the fabric of his cloak instead, pulling him closer down towards you. Your other hand finds his face and you let your thumb graze his cheekbone as you tilt your head to get a better angle on his mouth. Then you press your tongue against his lower lip.

Sebastian shivers slightly at the sensation of your tongue meeting his and he pulls away for a brief second before diving back in, kissing you even more passionately, his tongue pressing demandingly against yours.

He moves his hand from your thigh, to your hip, and then underneath your shirt, your skin against his feels amazing and you can't believe he's actually here right now. One of your hands continues to caress his cheek, his neck, his arm... anywhere within reach right now.

“Oh darling,” he whispers, as his hand strokes your thigh once again.

At the sound of his voice you press your tongue harder against his, almost fighting to taste the inside of his mouth, feel every inch of him, as you kiss him deeply, your hand settling on gripping the back of his head forcefully. "Oh Sebastian..." you moan against his mouth in the tiny moments you both have to come up for air.

He wraps you in a tight hug and rolls around on the bed, pulling you on top of him now, his hands underneath your shirt as his tongue continues to battle yours—your combined soft moans and whimpers are the only things being heard right now.

Your fingers run through Sebastian's hair as you lean on your elbows and he seems to like it, as he starts to slowly bite your bottom lip, pulling it away playfully.

You laugh against him, your fingernails scraping over his scalp, as he bites your lip. One of your hands finds his neck and you pull yourself closer to him again, closing your mouth hungrily around his, your tongue pushing past his teeth.

His breath turns ragged as your tongue explores his mouth, your fingers digging into his scalp. “Oh my love,” he whispers into your mouth. “Is this how you really want me? Is this what you want? Should we stop?”

After it's his turn to let his tongue explore your mouth, Sebastian bites your bottom lip once more, trying as hard as he can not to push you away for some fresh air.

You hold his face for a moment and stare into his eyes darkly as your tongue fights for dominance. You halt your movement for another moment. "I want you..." you whisper against him breathlessly, holding his gaze. "I've never wanted you more..."

He smiles slightly. “Why haven't you said so before, love?” he whispers and wraps his arms tightly around your body, pulling you down onto his chest, before the two of you continue to kiss. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says in between kisses. “I love you. I've always loved you.”

As he holds you tightly pressed against his chest, you lean forwards on your elbows and dive deep into kissing him, your hands holding his face as if you're afraid he might leave again. But then you hear his words and the roughness of his voice, and you just know he won't. You lean back a little when he says he loves you and you stare down at him, your eyes watering as your heart flutters. You smile, a timid one at first, then it breaks over your entire face. "I... love you too, Sebastian. I've never stopped..."

He smiles as you tell him what he's wanted to hear for years. He pulls you towards him again, his kisses becoming more powerful, more passionate. “I'll never leave you again,” he whispers. “You're mine forever.”

His hands roam freely on your body, tracing your curves, your arms, your hair. “You're just so beautiful... So perfect,” Sebastian whispers as he looks at you.

You moan against his kisses and arch your body to press against the touches of his hands. Your own hands find the front of his cloak again and you don't wait for permission this time as you focus on unclasping it until you can push it off of his chest, revealing the waistcoat beneath it. "So many layers..." you hiss as your fingers start playing with the many buttons that keep you from exploring his body fully.

He laughs as you begin unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Slow down, sweetie,” he tells you and guides your hands away from the buttons, holding them tightly. “Let's breathe for a moment first.”

He smirks and pulls you back against him, holding your chin to make sure you're looking at him. Sebastian caresses your face, his lips moving slowly towards your neck. “We've waited for so long. Take your time now...”

"But I can't wait!" you groan and turn your head to expose your neck to him as you press your chest against his. "You've always been such a tease..."

He chuckles slightly before pressing his lips against your neck, gently biting your throat. “You know I like teasing you, my love.” He continues to kiss your neck as he says: “I don't think I've ever heard you whimper in such a way… You're enjoying this, aren't you?” His mouth leaves your neck and he looks up at you, stroking your cheek once more. “What's wrong? Is this too much for you or do you want me to do more?”

You stare at him, your breaths erratic. You're almost embarrassed at the reactions of your body, but you can't help it. You need him. Right now. You tell him so: "I need you, Sebastian." You bite your lip and watch him.

His eyes widen when you say that. He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, his body pressing up against yours.

“My love,” he whispers. “I need you too. In fact, I can promise you I need you more. I want you.”

He wraps his arms around you, not letting you move, not letting you go. And right now nothing else matters. No one else matters.

“Just you. Just you and me.” He stares back at you, waiting for your response.

All you do in response is lick your lips slowly, watching him with a hunger you cannot describe.

Sebastian smirks at the sight of you licking your lips slowly and he moves forwards, his lips meeting yours once more. He pulls away shortly after, his breath ragged and he strokes your hair back.

“You taste so good, my love, so tempting… You taste like heaven.” He smiles at you in that moment and pulls you back against him, his arms wrapping around you completely, as your body is straddling his. “Just you,” he whispers, “Just us in our little world.”

You smile warmly at him as you adjust your position on top of him. You place your knees on either side of him and slowly lean up, your hands pressed against his chest in support. While you hold his gaze, your fingers start unbuttoning his waistcoat.

“You look so beautiful right now,” he whispers, his eyes wandering around your body. “I like seeing you like this,” he says, letting out a small moan when you start unbuttoning his waistcoat, and he can't help pulling you back down to him, his body moulding to yours.

"Hold on now," you say playfully and push him away again. You have to finish these buttons and your fingers do their darnedest to be quick about it. When you finally see some more skin, you bite your lower lip. "Lose these for me?" you ask and lean back a little more, so he can slip out of his waistcoat and shirt.

Sebastian chuckles and lets out another small moan at what you're doing, he can feel his body getting tighter and tighter just from the sight of you unbuttoning his clothes.

“Anything for you, my love,” he says, taking off all the restricting fabric and tossing it behind him. He grins and caresses your face again, before his hands move to your own shirt and the many buttons hiding your chest. Suddenly he looks you dead in the eyes. “But those are for me alone, do you understand?” he mutters darkly and draws a single line along the buttons with his index finger, down between your breasts.

You notice the shift in his tone and your smile falters for a moment. Yet it makes your heart beat faster and you nod slowly, leaning down to cup his face. "This is all yours," you whisper against his lips and kiss him deeply. Your hands eventually move downwards and you feel his hardened chest under your fingers, his warm skin and those delicious muscles beneath it. You hum lustfully against his lips.

Sebastian shivers when your hands make contact with his chest. “My love,” he whispers. “I've missed you, everything about you. Your body is perfection and even the way you're touching me right now is driving me crazy. We're finally here.”

His mouth once again meets yours in a passionate kiss, his hands roaming on your body, caressing your thighs, your hips. His hands can't wait to touch every inch of your skin, so he pulls you tighter against him.

You break the kiss with another little moan and lean back, your hands firmly on his chest as you finally lower your gaze to his exposed skin. As you sit back on him, slightly rubbing your midst against his as you do so, you start drawing circles on his skin, your fingertips tracing muscles and scars you haven't seen before. You wonder what he had been doing these last years. Inhaling deeply when your fingers reach the waistband of his trousers, you look up slowly, meeting his gaze.

He is looking at you, not breaking eye contact with you. His eyebrows are slightly raised as you move your hands to his waistband, his heart racing, his breaths ragged, as you trace his muscles and scars—the tension is building up, you know what you're doing and Seb knows what you're doing.

"Love," he whispers. "You know how badly I want you. Don't you?" He then pulls you towards him once more, kissing you passionately. "I need this, I need you," he whispers, and you can hear the longing in his voice.

You let him pull you back down into a kiss and for a moment you forget about your hands' journey. His mouth is literally breathtaking as your tongues dance around each other. You whimper against him and eventually, you have to turn your head away and catch your breath. Then you lean back and grab his waistband with determination, your breaths erratic, the heat inside your own body almost too much to bear. "You want me... you want this?" You quickly undo the buttons of his trousers and without another warning you slip your hand between the fabric and his warm skin and your fingers graze over his arousal.

Sebastian lets out a moan as soon as you touch him, his body immediately reacting to your hand. "Yes, yes, God, yes," he whispers. He quickly moves his hips to meet your hand and your touch almost sends him over the edge. He presses your hand against him firmly while making a few noises that you've never heard from him before.

He moves your hand back to his waistband and looks you dead in the eyes. "You don't know how long I've been craving this moment," he says as he reaches for your shirt and starts to unbutton it.

You lick your lips as you watch him unbutton your shirt, your hand still in close proximity to his arousal, you can feel the heat radiating from it through the fabric of his trousers. You can't wait to hear these noises again. You blush deeply and watch him with a newfound fondness.

He unbuttons the last two buttons of your shirt, pushes it off your shoulders and kisses your chest, the tip of his tongue gently circling around your hard nipples, his breath hot on the sensitive skin. The noise he makes almost sends you over the edge this time.

He looks at you with longing, with desire. “Please,” he whispers. “Let me. Let me love you.”

And as he says these words, he starts moving his fingers down your chest to your trousers, unbuttoning them slowly, making sure he touches and teases you at the same time.

You inhale sharply at his touches, your chest heaving and you're glad you're rid of the confinements of your shirt. When you watch Sebastian unbuttoning your trousers, you almost wish you'd decided to wear a skirt today. All this restricting fabric is causing your heart to race inside your chest as you are eager with anticipation. You bite your lip and watch him with warm, hungry eyes. "Love me..." you whisper barely audible.

He smiles at the words coming from your lips. “Oh, I can do that so well.” And now you get to truly see what he means.

Sebastian starts to caress your thighs with both hands as he leans up to kiss, lick, and nibble on your breasts, and then he moves one of his hands down your trousers.

“You feel so good, my love,” he whispers, slowly moving his mouth up to your neck and back to your lips, as he explores every bit of exposed skin of yours. “So. Good.”

You moan loudly as you feel his fingers inside your trousers, the heat pulsating violently through your core. You arch your hips against his touches, your breath hitching inside your throat, and your hands grab his waist forcefully in support. You rub your centre upwards and can feel just how excited he is, even through all the layers of clothes still between you.

He lets out a moan as you rub your centre against him and he starts breathing heavily. “God, my darling,” he whispers. “You're so good at this.”

He gently bites your neck as he moves his hand out of your trousers again. “We don't need these,” he says and gently pulls your trousers off. He pauses for a second when he sees you. Your body is perfect for him and he looks at you for a few seconds, taking you in. “Just this,” he says as he caresses your skin again.

As you shrug off both your shirt and your trousers, you adjust your position on top of him. You come to kneel beside him and start pulling down his trousers now, slowly exposing his throbbing arousal, and you stare at it longer than you anticipated, your cheeks blushing deeply.

And then you are both naked and you don't know where to start at the sight of his perfect body. You take a few seconds to take it all in, your eyes wandering down his torso, his legs… everywhere. And when you're finally done, your eyes meet his.

His body, despite being older and more defined, is exactly as you remember it. You start kissing him on different parts of his body, everywhere: his neck, his shoulders, his collarbone—all of this leads to one place.

You lick his chest and start moving south as Sebastian arches his hips into your touches, feeling your warmth against his body.

Your cheeks are burning, but you can't get enough of kissing every inch of his skin. Your lips move downwards, while your hands follow your movements slowly, grazing over his sides and his hipbones, and then you are face to face with his arousal. Before you give it any attention though, you look back up and meet his gaze, biting your lip as if asking for permission.

His voice is ragged and so low it makes your legs weak. “Please, my love.” He caresses your face with his outstretched hand and his words are almost a whisper. “If you don't kiss me like you're addicted to me right now, I don't know what will happen,” he says and you feel his hand brush your hair away from your face. “I've been craving this for a very long time, I need this, please.”

Your hot breath flies over his sensitive skin as you watch him and even though he may be thinking of kissing him somewhere else, you just dive in. Your lips meet the warm and tense skin of his arousal and as you grab his hips in support you start kissing up and down his length, occasionally letting your tongue glide over his heated skin.

Sebastian grunts a little when your tongue meets his skin. "Oh, my God," he says as he pushes his hips upwards, as his face is filled with pleasure. "Just like that," he whispers and his voice gets more and more ragged. "Don't stop, please keep doing that."

He lets himself enjoy the moment, his fingers digging into the mattress beneath him, his chest rising and falling. "Oh, my love," he hisses and you can see his legs tremble ever so slightly.

You smile as you notice his reactions, and the sound of his ragged voice keeps you going. You circle your tongue around his tip and savour the salty flavour of his skin and juices. Your hand moves to assist you and you close your fingers around his length and start moving it up and down, squeezing it gently, while your mouth keeps exploring his hot skin. You feel your own centre burning up and absent-mindedly move your backside up from your kneeling position, wiggling it slightly in the air.

He can feel a shudder run throughout his body and he lets out a loud moan. "That's it, my love, keep doing that to me." He keeps one of his hands clenched on the bed but his other hand finds your lower back and he digs his fingers into your skin, pushing you forwards slightly, his eyes not leaving you for a second.

For a moment he's quiet and he just watches you, as if making sure that you stay focused. And all at once, his face fills with pleasure and he lets out a few noises. "Oh, God..."

You moan against his arousal, your tongue licking up his excitement, as your hand halts its movements, tightly grabbing his length. You look up at him and meet his gaze. Your chest is rising and falling fast and you can't bear it any more. You get up from your kneeling position and sit down on top of him, one knee on either side of him, exposing your throbbing midst to him. Your hand is guiding his length closer to your centre as you adjust your position.

He looks up at you as you position yourself on top of him, your body pressing against his. His eyes fill with surprise but also with pleasure as he places his hands on your hips and holds you there firmly.

A smile spreads across his face and he looks at you hungrily. "All of this is yours," he rasps. "You can take everything out of me that you want. I'm all yours right now."

You swallow hard and feel the same hunger that you see inside his eyes. Your breaths are ragged and you bite your lip, before you look down again. Your hand is still gripping his arousal and you start to rub your hips against it slowly, feeling your own heat dripping against his sensitive skin. You close your eyes for a moment and breathe in deeply, then you lift yourself up slightly and position the tip of his length against the entrance of your centre. Your eyes find his and as you brace yourself, you lower yourself onto him, slowly feeling him slip into you. You moan against the sensation and arch your head back, until he is filling you up completely. You remain still for a moment, your hands grabbing his waist, until you adjust to the sensation.

Sebastian lets out a little hiss as you take him inside of you and his body relaxes completely as he lets his head fall back slightly. "Oh, God, you feel so good," he whispers, his voice still ragged as you start to slowly move your hips into him. "Oh, yes, just like that my darling."

The sounds coming out of him right now make you almost unable to control yourself, but you know he loves it. He grabs the bed sheets and lets his body move with yours as you continue to ride him, your eyes completely focused on him.

You moan deeply, the pain of his intrusion quickly changing into absolute pleasure. You have been yearning for this and now it was here. You grab his waist tighter and move your hips against him, slowly at first, a steady up and down rhythm, until you feel more comfortable. His ragged voice only drives you to move faster against him. You watch him as you ride him faster and faster, the hunger inside of you pushing you forwards, closer to the light. He looks so good right now and he feels incredible. You realize you needed this. So badly. The noises you both make are filling the room and it's the best thing you have ever heard.

His breathing becomes faster, his moans louder. "Oh, you were made for this," he whispers over the sounds of both your hips and the headboard of the bed slamming against the wall behind you. His hands move up to squeeze your waist tightly and it's almost as if his entire body is shaking right now. Pressed against you, he feels absolutely close to you as you move faster and faster.

His breath is ragged and he lets out a loud, moaning sigh as you keep riding him.

His moans echo in your ears and you squeeze your eyes shut as the first wave of pleasure hits you. You feel your whole body shake and you moan with him, feeling your walls tighten around him. You quickly lean forwards and press your chest against his, grabbing his shoulders as you keep moving on top of him, your legs trembling and your toes starting to curl up behind you.

"Ahh, Sebastian!" you moan and bury your face into his neck, kissing and biting his skin in the process. The wave washes over you and in its aftermath you look up at him breathlessly. Unable to speak, you just nudge him, grab his hips tightly and then move your whole body to the side, rolling around on the bed until you feel his entire weight land heavily on your body, the impact causing his length to slide in even deeper. You squeak in surprise and pleasure.

His body is pressed against yours and yours is pressed deep into the mattress as he adjusts to the new position, before he starts moving in and out of you, faster and faster as if he can't help himself.

You lean your head back on the bed and gasp in ecstasy when you feel him sliding back inside of you even further. "Oh, Sebastian, harder," you whisper. Then you wrap your legs around his waist and you start moving your hips in rhythm with him.

Your moans are coming faster and louder and as you keep your legs in a deadlock around his waist, pushing him deeper, you feel another wave building up. Your arms snake around his neck and you hold him firmly, your breaths hot on his skin, your moans loud in his ear. Your heart is about to explode in your chest and you wouldn't have it any other way. You can't get enough of him. Every thrust lets the headboard slam into the wall behind the bed, every thrust causes you to see stars dancing behind your eyelids. Your noises become ineffable.

As you both reach the peak of your pleasure, you moan and you keep moaning as Sebastian keeps moving in and out of you. It's his absolute delight to hear you enjoying your bodies this much. “Ahh...” you moan and you bite his neck again, which earns you a few moans from him, and at the end of it all you kiss him deeply.

“Oh God…” he whispers and buries his face into your neck, catching his breath, his hips slowing down their movements inside of you but still keeping a steady rhythm.

You breathe deeply against him, trying to calm your heart, as you slowly come down from your high. You hold onto him and gently kiss his cheek and his jaw and his ear, your hands moving into his hair and affectionately caress his locks. His steady rhythm sends shivers down your body and you keep your legs tightly wrapped around his waist, your feet crossed to hold him there tighter. You don't want to let go ever again. At least not for a while. "I love you..." you whisper into his hair and breathe in his scent, savouring every second you have with him.

"I love you too." Sebastian's voice is warm and husky as he breathes into you. His fingers are still running through your hair, caressing you gently and he feels your lips against his neck again.

The two of you are panting and sweating on the bed and you notice his body shaking a little. "You feel too good," he mutters and looks down at you on the bed. "I think I need some air." He then moves back a little, and sits up on the edge of the bed.

While you're still engulfed in the afterglow of this sensational reunion, you notice him move back and as your legs drop onto the bed again, too weak to resist, you feel a sudden wave of panic rush through you as you watch him sit on the edge of the bed, talking about needing some air. Even though your heart is still beating fast in your chest and your whole body wants nothing more than to rest, you push yourself up on your elbows and stare at him.

"Don't leave! I'm begging you! Don't leave!" You urge him with a hoarse voice, strained from all the moaning. You sit up more and grab his arm, your eyes watering at the idea of him going anywhere.

As you sit up on the bed and you try to hold onto his arm, you feel the tears running down your cheeks and your panic sets in even more. "Please, please," you say a little louder. "Please don't go."

Sebastian looks at you for a solid moment. The panic in your eyes and the tears rolling down your cheeks make him look away, but he smiles and says: "I'm not leaving." He looks down at your waist to catch his breath and then looks back at your eyes. "I'm not leaving you, I promise."

You swallow the lump inside your throat and lunge yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck. "I really need to believe you..." you whisper against his skin. "I want to believe you..." Your tears are hot on his skin and you just can't make them stop.

He wraps one of his arms around you. "I'll always come back for you," he whispers, moving his other arm down and runs it down your back, then your thighs. "I'm not going to leave you, not when you look this good." He leans closer to bite your neck, but this time his bite is more intense and you can feel him suck on your neck slightly. "You deserve to have me here," he rasps.

You moan softly against his bite and sucking on your neck and lean closer to him, holding onto him, slowly relaxing, but a tiny bit of doubt remains. You kiss the top of his head as he works on your neck and you close your eyes at the sensation.

"Shhhh," he whispers and you can feel his body relaxing too. "It's okay now, I'm right here," he says and nibbles on your neck a few more times, his lips moving back up to your ear before he moves to your cheek and kisses you one last time. He then whispers: "I'm not gonna let you go, my darling, ever."

He looks at you as he holds you tight. "Let's just stay here for a while."

(Read Part 2 here)

Have a little teaser for Part 2:

Notes:

You might have noticed that the AI isn't as dominant/proactive as you would wish for. I always had to give him a little nudge in the right direction, but then he pretty much played along perfectly. So that is why MC is the one initiating most of the things, but really, why not, right? (“Plotwise” you could explain it like this: he told her she was the only one for him, so he doesn't have too much experience, yet she might have engaged in other activities over the years, who knows.)

[sinsydia]

Am i the only one who imagined the first meet like this?? *swooon*

[charliemwrites]

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

Next

Masterlist

[crispyanonartnsfw]

not a single braincell to be found in this picture // I'll post some spicy stuff soon, please accept this in the meantime

ref (specifically with this caption)

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 1

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Series Masterlist | Part 2

Chapter Summary: You encounter an unexpected visitor in your home.

Chapter Word Count: Over 2.8k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, breaking and entering, stalking, coercion, threats (not against reader), creepy and unhinged behavior, flashback, possessiveness, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: Welcome to the Turn It Up AU! Thanks to @starlightcrystalline for helping bringing this unhinged Bucky to life and @targaryenvampireslayer and @tavners for the support. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You yawned as you flipped on the light switch in your apartment and set the keys on the table. It was early, but you were ready to settle in for the night after a busy shift. Maybe you could make a cup of tea and curl up with a book to unwind after dinner. Or maybe even a nice, hot bath and a glass of wine.

If only Addison could hear your thoughts now. She’d tease you for not living it up and enjoying the single life. Nothing new.

Your mouth fell open as you walked into the living room, but no sound came out as you skidded to a stop. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest and plummeted to your stomach at the same time as your phone fell from your hand. It was like you couldn't breathe. Because a man was sitting on your sofa.

And you lived alone.

“What…” you exhaled, no louder than a whisper.

The man didn't speak as he stared at you. He didn't even blink. The staring contest gave you a moment to take in his appearance. Intimidating even though he was sitting, his dark suit looked tailored to perfection on his broad frame. Dark brown hair framed his face and matched the stubble on his face, with the exception of a few gray hairs. The dangerous glint in his hard blue eyes did little to put you at ease, but there was something soft there as well.

In any other circumstance, you would've said he was handsome.

You bent down to pick up your phone before he let out a tsk, a subtle warning for you not to try anything. “Who are you? Why are you in my home?” You asked as you straightened up, hoping your tone didn't betray how terrified you were.

Nothing looked out of place. If he was there to rob you, there wasn't much worth taking. While you weren't struggling, you were far from rich.

He smirked and leaned back further into the cushion, his eyes roving over your body. You hadn't noticed right away, but the hand draped on the back of the sofa appeared to be metal. Or was it a glove? He didn't have to stand for you to know he was larger than you. If things got physical, you wouldn't stand a chance.

“Okay…” If he wasn't going to give you any sort of answer or clue as to who he was or why he was there, you’d just leave. You could go to a neighbor’s place or Addison’s to call the cops. But he didn't seem to like it when you took a step back since he pinned you with a glare and crooked his finger, beckoning you to go to him.

Your legs wobbled with the first step, but you righted yourself as you continued to move forward. If he noticed your misstep, he didn't acknowledge it. You swallowed, worried that bile would rise to your throat from how sick you felt when you stopped in front of him. That feeling only grew when he leaned in to grip your waist and roughly pulled you toward him.

A scream escaped this time around, but his hand clamped over your mouth to smother the sound. The cold fear that trickled down your spine would stick with you for days to come as he pulled you onto his lap and shook his head with another tsk. There was no mistaking the evident lust in his gaze as his eyes bore into yours.

What was he going to do to you?

You put your hands on his shoulders to push yourself away, but the hand on your hip held you tighter. You squirmed in his lap before you brushed against the outline of his cock, your body stiffening when he let out a low groan. With wide eyes, you decided moving wasn't a wise decision.

“Keep moving your hips if you want, but don't scream again,” he warned, his deep voice rumbling from his chest as you breathed through your nose. “There’s time for that later.”

Blood rushed to your ears as your heart pounded faster. You wished you could've stopped the tears from filling your eyes, but you weren't that strong. Was he going to hurt you? Kill you? If so, why?

The brunette cooed as a tear slid down your cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? But I will gag you if I remove my hand and you scream again,” he promised, his tone lighter than a moment ago. “Blink once if you promise not to scream.”

You blinked, another tear falling from your eye.

A pleased look crossed his face when he removed his hand and you complied. “Good girl,” he whispered and you ignored the new kind of shiver that rolled down your spine. “I didn't mean to startle you, but I couldn't wait any longer to see you.”

You exhaled as he used his thumb to wipe the tears away, your body still stiff as you focused on trying to stay calm. Couldn't wait to see you? You had never seen this man before in your life. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“My name is Bucky Barnes. And don't worry. I already know your name.” He smirked as he rested his hand on your cheek. You managed not to flinch at his calloused touch. “Did you have fun at my club?”

Confusion flickered in your gaze. “What?”

“My club, The 107th. I own it. Did you have fun?” He asked again, looking at you expectantly.

The 107th was the most luxurious and expensive nightclub in the city. Chic and glamorous in design with a friendly staff who waited on people hand and foot, you felt like royalty as you hung out in the VIP section. The upscale venue wasn't one you frequented often. In fact, you had only been once.

For Addison’s bachelorette party.

“Y-Yeah,” you replied, still confused as to what he wanted. “It’s a nice club.”

He hummed, his thumb brushing across your trembling lip. “I’m glad to hear it, but you didn't seem to have as much ‘fun’ as your friends. Did you?”

You nursed your drink as you gazed out at the dancefloor from your seat. The place was packed, the strobe lights flashing over the crowd in various hues as they grinded to the beat. You adjusted the hem of your short black dress as you debated going out to dance. You decided against it since you weren't looking to hook up.

“Come on! Another shot!” Addison yelled, adjusting her tiara on her head. She was lucky the “bride to be” sash was still on straight. “Shot, shot, sh-sh-sh-shot!”

You giggled as she plopped down beside you. “I did a shot. I'm fine,” you hollered back.

Your best friend grumbled something you couldn't make out as she put her head on your shoulder. “But you aren't even driving.”

“I don't want to deal with a hangover tomorrow,” you argued, thanking the server as she brought another bottle.

“Ugh. If you won't drink, at least get laid,” Addison whined a little. “You're wearing a slutty black dress and everything.”

You looked around at the group. Addison was the only one in white since she was the bride. Everyone else wore black. They looked great, but you weren't dressed to get any sort of attention.

“Yeah! Get fucked!” Dana shouted.

“Is that encouragement or an insult?” You teased, glancing at the small blinking light in the corner of the VIP section. You didn't notice it before.

“Raise your hand if you think our girl should get laid!” Addison announced, raising her hand high and spilling some of her drink on the seat. “Whoops.”

The group raised their hands as you attempted to clean up the small mess. “I’m not hooking up with anyone tonight,” you said to their disappointment. “This night isn't about me and my love life.”

“Your love life? Babe, it doesn't exist!” Addison grabbed your left hand and held it up to stare at your bare ring finger. “I don't get it. You're the only one not engaged or married yet. And you're, like, the sweetest one in our group. And you're so pretty! It’s not fair that you don't have a man. You deserve one.”

“And sex!” Dana chimed in. “You deserve lots of sex!”

You gently pulled your hand away and pushed down the sadness that surfaced at the reminder that you were the only single one left of your friends. You didn't know why you hadn't met the right one yet. It wasn't like your standards were too high and you were a good, loyal partner. You wouldn't say you were supermodel gorgeous, but you were pretty. You knew how to have a good time.

Right?

Addison's lip wobbled when she saw the look on your face. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m sorry. I didn't mean anything by it,” she rambled, hugging you from the side. “I just want you to have what Brady and I have. I want someone to love you.”

Guilt crept in before you shook your head and flashed your best smile. You know she wasn't trying to make you feel bad and you didn't want to ruin her night. “And one day, I will. Someone will love me the way Brady loves you and I’ll love him, too,” you assured her, giving the other girls a shrug and wishing they'd stop with the pitying stares. “Shots?”

“Shots!”

Your eyes briefly went back to the blinking light before you put a small smile back on your face. Addison was having fun and that was what mattered. You could worry about yourself and your feelings tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, but did my friends and I do something wrong?” You asked, dodging his question. You booked and paid for the section well in advance. Your group danced around in the area, and behaved overall and kept to yourselves. The server got a nice tip at the end of the night.

So what was the matter?

“Not at all,” he said, tilting his head. “I’m just sorry I couldn't introduce myself to you that night.”

“I don't understand. You broke into my home just so you could introduce yourself to me?” You asked as he traced small circles on your hips, the motion making your head spin a little. “How do you even know where I live?”

He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, before he got serious again. “I have my ways. And I can be a little intense and forward at times, but you’ll get used to it,” he said, your eyes wide again. What was wrong with this man?

“Okay, Bucky,” you said slowly, seeing something wicked flash in his eyes when you said his name. “Being intense and forward doesn't excuse breaking into my home. And since my friends and I didn't do anything wrong at your club and you formally introduced yourself, I think it's time for you to leave.”

A second passed before he shook his head. “No, doll. It’s time for you to get the love life and man you deserve.”

Fingers brushed your throat as you struggled to take your next breath. “What did you say?”

“I'm going to take you out to dinner tomorrow so you can get to know me and you’re going to wear the dress I bought for you,” he explained as if he didn't hear you, nodding toward the hall. “It’s waiting for you in your bedroom and, yes, it’s your size.”

How did this man have the nerve and how long had he been in your place? “You went into my room? You-”

“And I bought you that perfume you recently ran out of. I know how much you love it. I know everything about you,” he continued, running his nose along your neck as your blood ran cold. “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun together.”

You moved back, desperate to get away as your stomach twisted. He didn't let you get far, easily yanking you close again. How did he know anything about you? How did you catch his eye?

The blinking light in the corner of the VIP section …

“And if I say no?”

Bucky pulled back, his eyes calculating as he studied you. “I’m not going to force you into going out with me. It’s your choice to say yes or no, but I want you to think carefully about that choice.”

Dread pooled in your gut. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I obviously know where you live and I can get in and out undetected,” he pointed out. You wondered now if this was the first time he had been in your place. “I also know where your friend Addison and her fiancé, Brady, live.”

A wounded sound escaped at the thought of anything happening to your friends. “Please, leave them alone.”

“And the shop you work at, I know where it’s located. Those floral arrangements you make are stunning. Your boss even gave you a raise recently. You should be proud,” he smiled.

Your eyes watered again. The man was certifiably insane. Maybe this was a sick joke or a bad dream. Soon you'd wake up in your bed.

But the iron grip on your body reminded you that this was very real.

He waved a hand dismissively. “But we both know you’ll make the right choice because you're a good girl… a smart girl,” he said like he hadn't just threatened your friends or livelihood. “Just take the night to think it over. Have a glass of wine and draw yourself a nice bath while you do.”

He surprised you by moving you from his lap to the sofa. His hands and eyes lingered on you momentarily before he released you and stood up. Towering over you, he gave you a tender smile as he buttoned his jacket.

“I’m going to lock the door behind me when I leave and I’ll be back tomorrow at 7pm so you can give me your answer. And if you try and tell anyone I was here tonight, I’ll know about it,” he said, grasping your chin when you tried to look away. “It’s taking all of my control not to drag you to bed, but I can wait a little longer.”

Fear prickled the back of your neck as you tensed up. “You couldn't just ask me out like a normal person?”

You almost regretted asking when he narrowed his eyes, but he huffed out a laugh. “Where's the fun in that?” He winked as you shrank back in your seat. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I won't hurt you. And you know what? I just thought of something. You still need a plus one for the wedding. I’m free. I’ll get a suit to match your bridesmaids’ dress. We’ll look perfect together. And Addison will be so happy that you aren't going alone.”

His tone was light and happy like it was a suggestion and not an order, but the ferocity in his gaze had you trembling. “Why are you doing this?” You asked above a whisper.

“Because I want you and I get what I want,” he said as a matter of fact, releasing your chin. “Like I said, it's time for you to get the love you deserve. And I know you'll give it to me in return.”

It was like your spirit floated out of your body as he bent down to kiss your forehead. You couldn't move or speak. Was this what shock felt like? Or was it complete and utter fear?

You stared ahead as he picked up your phone and unlocked it with your passcode. He knew that, too? “Can’t leave without giving you my phone number,” he smiled, putting his information in before he set the device down. You didn't respond. Once he was gone you could scream and cry. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of breaking down in front of him. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, 7pm. Get some rest. You'll need it.”

Even as he left you alone and locked the door behind him as promised, you didn't move from your spot as tears streamed down your cheeks. You didn't dare go to your bedroom to see the gifts he left for you, your hand shaking as you wiped at your face. The scent of his cologne lingered, as did his touch. It was like his shadow covered you, leaving you cold and afraid. Your home was no longer safe.

You weren't safe.

With his subtle threat looming over your head, you’d have no choice but to go out with him. Maybe he’d get bored of you quickly and move on. Or maybe not. You had no way of knowing. All you knew was that your average life was upheaved by the owner of The 107th.

And you were going to be his girl whether you liked it or not.

Bucky isn't wasting time. Where is he taking you on your first date? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[sxilor-1010]

Sebastian is the type of flirty fucker to lift ur chin with a single finger and stare at you until he starts smirking once a person fumbles and blushes

[witchywithwhiskey]

🔪 Slasher 🔪 Choose Your Own Ending

pairing: DARK horror movie villain!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: somehow, you end up in your favorite old horror movie, and you decide to take the opportunity to fulfill one of your fantasies—you're gonna fuck the villain, bucky barnes.

warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), dark themes and elements, typical horror movie violence (blood, murder, some gruesome descriptions), smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampie, unsafe sadist/masochist dynamic (reader is into it but there are no safe words), dry humping, knife kink, size kink, chase kink, oral sex (m receiving), rough sex, rough body play, light spanking, choking, breath play, bratting/brat taming (reader is slightly unhinged), dirty talk, degradation kink, praise kink, boot riding, dacryphilia, pet names (cottontail, baby), reader passes out during sex, possessive behavior

word count: 13.3k total (11.6k with only the dark ending; 11.9k with only the fluffy ending)

a/n: i really didn't know if i'd be able to finish this fic in time for the end of my Slasher Summer challenge because it's probably one of the most ambitious fics i've ever attempted. it's loosely inspired by the movie The Final Girls (highly recommend) but i couldn't decide how i wanted it to end, so y'all get TWO ENDINGS!! both are included here, with additional warnings down below. i worked really hard on this, so i really hope y'all enjoy!!! 😅

The last thing you remembered was the feel of fuzzy static on your tongue, fizzling through your arms and legs and making you feel like every nerve ending in your body was buzzing to life. You had a vague memory of licking something you probably shouldn’t have, but then your ears popped and you felt solid ground beneath your feet.

Staticky silence was suddenly replaced by shrill screams of excitement and the mechanical whirring of carnival rides. The rich scents of funnel cakes and popcorn and cotton candy filled your nose, making your mouth water with the desire to eat your weight in fried food.

Blinking your eyes open—not remembering when you’d closed them—you were met with the entrance to the Bakersfield Fun Fair. The big banner declaring the name of the carnival sparked a hazy recognition deep in your mind, but when you looked around, you didn’t quite recognize where you were, and you had no memory of how you’d gotten there. 

Still, something about the fairground, with its ticket booth and carnival rides and all kinds of stalls selling food or touting games to play for prizes, felt familiar. Like you’d seen it in a dream, or when you were a child the memory was a distant thing. 

Muggy summer air brushed against your skin with a soft breeze that helped to alleviate the worst of the heat, the air holding a hint of chill as the sun set on the distant horizon. It cast everything you could see, which was mainly just the carnival and the grassy field being used for a parking lot, in a golden glow. 

Finally, it occurred to you to look down at yourself, finding that you were wearing cutoff jean shorts and a plain tank top—neither of which you recognized. 

The confusion you’d held at bay suddenly overwhelmed you, making you feel as dizzy as if you’d just ridden the tilt-a-whirl, which you somehow knew was nestled somewhere in the fairgrounds. Your stomach lurched as your mind tried to make sense of where you were and how you’d gotten there. You closed your eyes and tried to think. 

As you concentrated, memories began to surface in your mind, like you were dragging them up from the depths of a deep, murky lake. 

It wasn���t summer. It was fall, you remembered, and just moments before you’d been curled up on the worn, aged rug in your grandmother’s basement. You were housesitting for her while she was on a cruise. 

You remembered closing your laptop, heaving a huge sigh of relief at finishing work for the day, then going down into the basement. You’d spent countless hours there as a teenager watching movies on the big, boxy TV set, the kind where you could feel the static if you put your hand against the screen. Your favorite movies to watch were the horror ones…

That was it! 

That was why Bakersfield and the carnival seemed so familiar. Bakersfield was the small town terrorized by the ruthless villain in your favorite horror movie, Slasher, and the final act’s killing spree took place at the town’s annual end of summer carnival. The Bakersfield Fun Fair.

And the villain was Bucky Barnes, a psychotic killer with a sadistic sense of humor and piercing blue eyes. 

You’d had a crush on him when you’d first watched Slasher as a teenager, and your attraction to him remained even well into your adult years. You’d decided to put the movie on because you’d been lonely at your grandmother’s, figuring a night with your favorite horror movie slasher would be the closest thing to a date you could get.

Once you remembered that, the rest of it came back to you. You’d been curled up on the rug in front of the TV, and your favorite scene had come on. It was the one where Bucky is cleaning a bullet wound in his shoulder—given to him by the movie’s mean girl, right before he brutally stabs her in the head—and he had his shirt off, showing the broad expanse of his muscled chest.

It hadn’t been your finest moment, but you were lonely and you got it into your head to lick the screen of the TV over Bucky’s bare chest. And then, that was it. That was all you remembered—and the feeling of static on your tongue.

Opening your eyes, you looked up at the banner again. You blinked. And blinked again. Then you pinched yourself. You didn’t wake up. 

The sign still read Bakersfield Fun Fair. But…that was impossible.

Your jaw went slack as you looked around—really looked at your surroundings.

In the time that you’d spent figuring out where you were, the sun had dipped behind the tops of the trees in the forest beyond the fairground, turning the sky pink and orange, fading into a deep cerulean. There was a ferris wheel in the distance, and the canopy top of a carousel off to the side. 

There were lines of stalls stretching in both directions beyond the entrance to the fair, some with ring toss games and others with milk bottles to be knocked over. Other stalls were selling all kinds of junk food, from cotton candy to candy apples. 

Everything looked and sounded and smelled real. You could practically taste the funnel cake on your tongue, and feel the powered sugar-covered fried dough melting in your mouth. You could clearly see the faces of all the people milling around the fair, kids breaking off with hands clasped tight around their tickets as they went running down the various rows of stalls. 

And the closer you looked, the more realized everything was dated. The clothes, the rides, the toy prizes. Everything looked like it was from the early 90s, when Slasher was made. Even your own clothes and the tennis shoes on your feet looked like they were out of the 90s. 

It was bizarre, and yet, it didn’t feel like a dream. But it had to be a dream. Right?

Spinning around in a circle, you decided that had to be the case. It was the only thing that made sense. It’s not like you could’ve been transported into the world of your favorite horror movie. Stuff like that didn’t happen; it broke all rules of physics and other science stuff you didn’t understand.

Deciding to just roll with it and enjoy your dream, you shrugged off your confusion and headed into the Bakersfield Fun Fair. While you meandered down one of the lines of stalls, you wondered if you’d see any of the characters from the movie. You wondered if you’d see Bucky. 

You almost tripped over the grass beneath your feet at the thought, your heart speeding up in your chest and beating excitedly against your rib cage as you considered the possibility of actually meeting your biggest horror movie crush. 

But your mind didn’t stop there. Oh no. You were the girl who’d decided to lick an old, staticky TV because it was the closest you thought you’d ever get to licking Bucky’s bare chest. 

Naturally, your mind took the thought of meeting him much further and you thought about fulfilling one of your most cherished fantasies. If you were in the world of Slasher, you wanted to fuck Bucky Barnes. 

Before you’d ended up at the Bakersfield Fun Fair, in some ultra-realistic dream, the closest you could’ve gotten was finding a guy who looked like Bucky Barnes and try to convince him to wear the Slasher mask while chasing you through the woods. 

But you’d found yourself in the world of your favorite horror movie—whether by way of your subconscious dreaming about it, or some breakdown of the space-time continuum—and you had the chance to fuck the actual Bucky Barnes. Giddy excitement flooded through you, and you began skipping down the line of carnival stalls, trying to remember what exactly happens in the final act of Slasher.

It probably should’ve worried you how unconcerned you were with the possibility that Bucky could kill you before you even got started trying to convince him to fuck you. But it was your dream, so what was the worst that could happen? If he killed you, you’d just wake up horny and dissatisfied, right? Then, you’d have to take care of yourself, which wasn’t any different to any other day of your life.

Nah, you were almost entirely certain you were in a dream, and because it was your dream, you wouldn’t have too much trouble getting Bucky to fuck you. You just had to find him…

As if right on cue, screams erupted from the opposite end of the fairground, and it sparked your memory. The action at the end of Slasher ramps up when Bucky storms the Bakersfield Fun Fair and the final girl, along with the remainder of her friends, try to set a trap for him. 

Trying to hid your giddy grin, you raced through the fairground, heading in the direction of the screams. Since you’d remembered the beginning of the end of the movie, you couldn’t help but think about what else happens. Bucky carves through the final girl’s friends one by one in various, gruesome ways on the carnival rides at the fair. Then, the final girl eventually traps him by crushing his arm in the gears of the carousel. 

Bucky doesn’t die, of course. He comes back in the sequel, Slasher II, and sports a metal arm that glimmers in the moonlight while he stalks the final girl around Bakersfield all over again. It’s not nearly as good as the first movie, but Bucky is still very hot, and you watched the sequel nearly as many times as the original when you were a teenager.

You were so distracted by thoughts of Bucky’s prosthetic arm, and what it would feel like to have his metal hand wrapped around your throat while he fucked you, that you didn’t realize you were suddenly alone in the fairground, and you’d made it to the Tunnel of Love ride. 

It was then that you spotted the macabre scene of the final girl’s best friend—you couldn’t remember the character’s name, it was something boring like John—with his heart ripped out of his chest and held in his limp, dead hands. His lifeless eyes stared unseeingly ahead, looking almost like a movie prop, but so, so much more real.

This particular kill was one of Slasher’s most controversial, you remembered. Half the cult fandom argued it was too on the nose, since the movie heavily implied John was in love with the movie’s final girl and never found the courage to tell her. The other half of the fandom enjoyed the tragic romance of it. 

Personally, you didn’t care much about the kills or the drama between the final girl and the other characters. You really only watched Slasher for Bucky, and only cared about the creativity of the murders when he looked particularly hot doing them. 

Your mind whirled as you stared at John’s dead body, your brain focusing on the Slasher message boards you’d trawled well into your college years, rather than trying to make sense of the horrible sight in front of you. It really, really looked like real blood soaking his clothes—and you could even smell the coppery tang of it in the air.

Instinctively, you took a step back, the grass of the fairground soft beneath your feet. The sun had slipped fully behind the trees of the forest beyond the fairground, casting long, ominous shadows over the scene. Your heart beat harder in your chest, and you took another step back, as if putting room between you and the horrific sight in front of you would somehow make it easier to reconcile.

You took one more step backward and bumped into something solid, something that you knew deep in your bones shouldn’t be there.

The smell of blood was stronger suddenly, mixing with an earthy, spicy scent that didn’t make sense for the carnival fairground. Holding your breath, you slowly looked over your shoulder and were met with the sight of a black leather-clad chest. 

Already, you knew it was him. But you dragged your eyes up and sucked in a gasp when you met the piercing blue gaze of Bucky Barnes.

His eyes were filled with a cold hatred that was so visceral, it made your stomach twist in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. Inexplicably, warmth bloomed low in your core, unfurling and reacting to the villain’s presence. Finally, you were face to face with your biggest horror movie crush, and you couldn’t help but take a moment to take all of him in.

Bucky Barnes was even bigger and more intimidating than he seemed on your TV screen, and he was more handsome too. His eyes were an electric blue, the color so bright, it seemed like it glowed from within. And his chin-length brown hair fell on either side of his face, highlighting the strong line of his brow and the intensity of his gaze.

The villain’s mouth and nose were covered by the hard plastic mask that matched the utilitarian leather jacket and combat pants he wore with thick, heavy boots. There were straps on the leather jacket that spanned his broad shoulders, and a utility belt around his trim waist where he secured the various knives and weapons he used throughout the movie.

Looking up at his face again, you realized Bucky was so much taller than you expected, standing behind you like a mountain of cold hatred, radiating danger and menace. Unfortunately for you, that only made the heat simmering in your belly burn hotter until you were squeezing your thighs together against the ache building there. 

You knew your body’s reaction to the psychotic murderer was foolish, to say the least, but there was something about the dangerous man that made your heart beat harder, and made you want to spread your legs for him. 

Glancing down to Bucky’s hand, you saw the big butcher’s knife dangling from his fingers. He hadn’t raised it yet, and when you looked back into his eyes, the villain seemed to be watching you closely, as if wondering how you were going to react to him. 

The longer you went without screaming or running away from him, the more his brows lowered over his eyes. He began to look perplexed.

That was fine, you could work with perplexed.

Carefully, as if dealing with an animal you didn’t want to spook, you turned around and set your hands gently on Bucky’s massive chest, your fingertips toying idly with the leather straps on his jacket. Holding his gaze with your own, you slid your hands up to his shoulders and pushed yourself up onto you tiptoes so you could twine your arms around his neck, as if he were your boyfriend and you were welcoming him home.

“Hi,” you murmured, your voice coming out breathy as your heart beat wildly in your chest. You fluttered your lashes at Bucky, figuring that if you didn’t treat him like a threat, he wouldn’t be. And so far, it was working.

The horror villain didn’t seem inclined to respond to your shy greeting, so you pressed yourself close to him, enjoying the feel of his hard body against your soft one. Arching your spine, you pushed your tits up in your tank top, as if offering them to him. 

You were gratified when Bucky’s gaze dropped to your lightly heaving chest, and felt his empty hand twitch against your bare thigh, like he wanted to touch you but was holding himself back. Not that you needed him to touch you to know he was enjoying the feel of you against him.

Bucky’s bulge was already digging into your lower stomach, and you suspected he’d already been hard before you’d pressed against him. But still, you were gratified when, every time you shifted against him, he twitched in his pants, his cock eagerly responding to you. 

The interest of Bucky’s cock had a smile spreading across your face, making you look like the cat who got the cream as you tipped your head back and grinned shamelessly up at the horror movie villain.

“Is that a knife in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” you purred, rocking your body against Bucky’s bulge and pressing your chest more tightly to his leather jacket. You were practically rubbing on him like a cat in heat, but you couldn’t stop yourself. It felt too good to feel his solid, sturdy form against you.

As you shifted closer, you could feel the tackiness of blood on your arms and chest, and when you glanced down, you saw that some had stuck to you from Bucky’s jacket. It was odd to see the blood on your skin, but it felt like another reminder of what you were doing—and, especially, who you were doing it with. 

Fire was blazing through your veins as you cast your hooded eyes on Bucky’s face, your mouth going soft as you met his piercing gaze. There was a cold flame in the depths of his blue eyes, one you’d never seen in all the times you’d watched Slasher, and it filled you with pride to realize Bucky liked having you pressed against him. 

In response to your question, which you’d almost forgotten in the seconds after it passed your lips, Bucky huffed a laugh behind his mask. Then his hands were on your ass, and he was grabbing your soft flesh with an unyielding grip. He hiked you up higher against his chest, using his inhuman strength, and your legs fell open instinctively, so his thick bulge dug into the juncture of your thighs. 

A wanton moan fell from your lips, your head falling back as you rocked your hips in tiny circles, grinding on Bucky’s hard cock through your clothes. You could feel the flat steel of his knife pressed to the back of your thigh, and your core pulsed at the weapon’s proximity to your most sensitive place, but you didn’t have any worry he was going to use it on you—not when he was staring at you with such a greedy look in his eyes.

Bucky growled out, “Dumb slut,” as his fingers dug into your ass through your jean shorts, but you were too distracted by humping against the mountain of a man, pleasure swirling through your body and filling your head with cotton candy nothing. 

All that mattered was grinding against Bucky’s bulge, and the fact that you were finally—finally—getting to live out your darkest fantasies of fucking the horror movie villain.

“Y’know, I always wondered if killing made your cock hard,” you murmured breathlessly, catching Bucky’s eye and giving him a cheeky grin. “Guess I have my answer now.” You dragged the seam of your shorts up the thick length of Bucky’s cock, drawing a growl from him, your smile spreading wider. “Unless you just have a soft spot for dumb sluts like me,” you said, giggling at your own joke and batting your lashes at him.

Bucky shook his head at you, but not like he was disagreeing with you—more like he was already exasperated with your antics. 

“I thought I already killed this town’s biggest slut,” Bucky ground out, and though you couldn’t see his mouth or jaw, you somehow knew he was grinding his teeth. His fingers dug harder into your ass, his grip nearly punishing as you squirmed against him. 

You found an angle that had your clit rubbing against the tip of Bucky’s cock through your clothes and you let your head fall back, a filthy moan spilling from your lips. The obscene sound rose toward the darkening sky above the fairgrounds, loud against the silence that had fallen over the deserted carnival.

When you managed to get control of your tongue again, and pick up the thread of your conversation, you shot Bucky another grin.

“I’m not from Bakersfield,” you purred, pulling yourself closer to Bucky’s face, until your lips were nearly brushing against the hard plastic of his mask. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy, gusting through the slots on the front, making you shiver. Your expression settled into one of fake seriousness as you stared him in the eye. “And you have no idea how much of a slut I can be.”

A growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest, and his blue eyes narrowed on you, like a predator deciding on its prey. 

“Is that a challenge or an invitation, little cottontail?”

He slapped your ass with the flat of his knife, an obvious instruction to keep humping against him. 

As you followed the order, you choked out a one word answer, “Both!” Then bit your lip against a moan, hiding your delight at the nickname—and your surprise that Bucky would call you anything so sweet. 

But you didn’t seem to be grinding against him hard enough, because he dragged the sharp edge of his knife over the backs of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your ass. He didn’t press hard enough to break skin, but you could feel the threat in the gesture.

You lost the battle against trembling in the big, horror movie villain’s arms, and whimpered, rocking against him harder as a single tear leaked down your cheek. Pleasure was pulsing through your body, hard and fast, the same rhythm in which your heart beat in your chest.

Bucky rumbled a sound of pleasure, his blue eyes going molten as he watched the tear track down your face. He seemed to have forgotten your conversation entirely, more focused on your smaller body humping against his larger one.

You had long since soaked through your panties, and you could feel your arousal leaking through your shorts, coating your inner thighs in your wetness. But dry humping with Bucky wasn’t what you had in mind when you’d fantasized about the horror movie villain through most of your adult years. You needed more, and you had just the idea—a fantasy you’d long wanted to fulfill. With Bucky Barnes especially.

“I know you’re sort of busy, killing and all that,” you huffed, your body straining to keep rocking against his thick length with the speed he desired. “But I was wondering if you might want to take a break and play a game with me?” Your voice was hopelessly breathless and breathlessly hopeful, the pleading in your tone blatant as your words pitched higher with your question. 

Bucky’s brows lowered in confusion. “What kind of game?” came his rumbling, distorted voice from behind his mask.

With a flash of a smirk, you shifted one hand to his shoulder, where you remembered the bullet wound would be beneath his jacket. You could feel the slight raise of the bandages beneath the leather, and you dug your thumb into the spot. You were rewarded by a vicious growl and Bucky’s hands falling away from your ass, the cold steel of his knife disappearing from your skin.

Hopping down, you danced a few feet away from the now-enraged psychopathic killer, making sure you were beyond the reach of his long arms, including the length of his knife before you stopped. Something in your core tightened with excitement when Bucky’s cold, blue eyes focused entirely on you. Even the sight of him shaking out his arm seemed somehow threatening. 

You could see the dark stain of deep red blood in the black leather of his jacket, and couldn’t help but grin. You’d unleashed the darkest side of him, and you couldn’t be more giddy.

You knew Bucky had been holding back on you while you’d been in his arms. But you didn’t want to fuck a horror movie villain because you wanted some harmless dry humping. You wanted him to wreck you. You wanted him to hunt you down and make you his.

“The game is this,” you began, skipping back a few steps when Bucky lunged for you—though you noticed he reached for you with his free hand, rather than his knife, which you took as a good sign and grinned wider. “If you catch me, you can fuck me.” You held his gaze, your smile turning a little feral as you watched the seething villain. “As hard and as rough as you want.”

Your final words made Bucky pause, like a predator going still right before launching itself at its prey. His electric blue eyes shone brighter, reflecting the neon lights of the carnival as they fall across his handsome face. 

You could feel the energy in him shift, and even though you couldn’t see his mouth, you somehow knew he was grinning. You suspected it was even more feral than your own smile.  

“You really are the dumbest fucking slut, little cottontail,” Bucky growled, equal parts humor and menace in his tone, sending a delicious shiver skating down your spine. He took a step forward, his eyes sharp as they watched you skip backward, staying out of reach of his hand and his knife. “You better not let me catch you, baby, because if I do, I’m going to make you scream bloody murder as I split you open with my cock.”

The grin on your face was so wide it was beginning to make your cheeks hurt, but you couldn’t wipe it away even if you’d tried. Your entire body was buzzing with anticipation, adrenaline already pumping through your veins as you prepared to run. But you couldn’t help yourself, you had to taunt Bucky just a little more. If you were only going to get one chance to fuck your horror movie villain crush, you were going to make it count.

“Bet you say that to all the girls—bet none of them can scream like me,” you sassed, bouncing on the balls of your feet and scampering back a few more steps when Bucky took another menacing step forward, his big, heavy boot crunching the grass beneath him. 

You laughed at his scowling face, the sound loud and wild in the quiet that had fallen over the fairgrounds. Even the music of the carousel had gone silent. But you couldn’t hold your tongue. You loved the look of danger on Bucky’s face too much.

“You gotta catch me first, Mr. Slasher, then we’ll see if you can make me scream.”

With that parting challenge, you gave Bucky one last cheeky, impertinent smile, and the you turned and took off. 

Sprinting off into the Bakersfield Fun Fair, you didn’t dare look behind you, knowing instinctively that Bucky would be close on your heels. Your mind raced as you tried to form some kind of plan, since you hadn’t thought this far ahead. 

Of course, you had every intention of letting Bucky catch you, but you didn’t want to make it too easy for him. Besides, you’d always wanted to be chased by the hot horror movie villain, then overpowered and taken by the brutal man, so you wanted to make sure you enjoyed yourself as well.

As you turned a corner and began running down a row of carnival rides and games on the edge of the fairground, you spotted the funhouse in front of you. Grinning wildly, you pushed to run a little harder and launched yourself up the metal stairs leading into the funhouse.

There was a spinning barrel right away, and you clambered through it, the silence inside the funhouse swallowing you up as you plunged into the depths of the structure. Hauling yourself up a flight of stairs, you stumbled to a stop when you found that the interior of the funhouse was a maze of mirrors.

Your heart was practically beating out of your chest as you began moving through the maze, your hands outstretched to feel your way between the mirrors. Too soon, you heard Bucky’s heavy footsteps on the metal stairs leading up to the level with the maze and you tried to scurry faster, but you kept bumping into mirrors thinking they were a clear path forward.

A deep, dark chuckle echoed through the stuffy room in the funhouse, the sound distorted through Bucky’s mask, making him truly sound like a horror movie villain. 

The sound of his laugh sent a shiver racing down your spine, your heart rate picking up as you heard his heavy boots begin walking through the maze. It seemed like he was moving much faster than you and you tried to pick up your pace.

“When I get my hands on you, little cottontail,” Bucky began, his menacing voice filtering to you easily, sounding like he was right behind you. “You’re going to regret being such a dumb slut—I’m going to destroy your tight holes with my cock and ruin you until you’re all mine.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!” you called over your shoulder, just before barreling into another mirror with a defeated, “oof,” as you tried to escape the maze. 

Huffing in frustration, you turned and went down another path, your panicked breaths so loud in your ears, you couldn’t hear Bucky’s footsteps anymore. You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but your lungs protested, your pounding heart making you feel the blood pumping through your veins with every step you took.

“If you’re a good slut, maybe I won’t kill you,” Bucky rumbled, his voice definitely closer than it should be, and you whipped around, looking for the source. But he was no where in sight. “Maybe I’ll keep you—chain you up in my basement, and use your body like the fuck hole you were meant to be.”

You tried to ignore the way your pussy quivered at Bucky’s threat, your body wanting him to do exactly that. But you pushed on, though you were having a harder and harder time remembering why you didn’t want him to catch you. Your panties were soaked and your hole was aching to be filled. And Bucky seemed more than willing to fuck you until you were nothing more than the dumb slut he accused you of being.

Rounding a corner, you gasped loudly as the massive form of Bucky Barnes loomed in front of you, his blue eyes immediately finding yours and making you feel like prey trapped by a much larger predator. 

Spinning on the ball of your foot, you turned and tried to escape in the other direction, only to run head first into Bucky’s chest. His arms closed around you, and you belatedly realized the Bucky you’d seen had been a reflection in one of the mirrors. He wasted no time, squeezing you so tight to his body that you cried out, his strength forcing the air from your lungs. You were caught.

“I win, little cottontail,” Bucky sneered, crushing you harder to his chest while you struggled to breathe, your ribs feeling like they were on the verge of snapping.

Then, suddenly, he let you go and you slumped to your knees, your legs giving out as you fell to the metal floor of the funhouse. Your head was spinning from the lack of air and you focused on pulling as much oxygen into your lungs as possible, the adrenaline in your body making you feel your heartbeat in your temples. 

While you were distracted, Bucky quickly worked his pants open and before you knew what was happening, his thick, heavy cock fell on your face with a lewd slapping sound. You flinched. But then Bucky’s musky scent filled your nose, and you relaxed. Warmth spread through your body as your mind went fuzzy for an entirely different reason than lack of oxygen. 

Your mouth fell open instinctively, your head tipping back to press your lips to his girth, and you felt more wetness dripping from your slit between your thighs. 

Bucky chuckled at your obvious submission, but still used the flat tip of his knife to tip your face back further, until it was practically horizontal. He worked his hips languidly, sliding his cock over your face, precum dripping onto your skin and making a mess of your cheeks and forehead.

“Open your mouth wider, dumb slut,” Bucky growled, his eyes glittering in the dim funhouse as he stared down at you. 

When you did as he ordered, sticking your tongue out for good measure, the tip playing with his balls, the horror villain made a pleased sound deep in his chest. You had the distinct impression he was smiling again, and you almost dared to ask him to take off the mask, but decided against it. Part of the fun of fucking Bucky Barnes was him keeping the mask on. 

“Good girl,” Bucky purred, petting your head with his free hand. He dragged his hips back and pushed the leaking head of his dick into your mouth. “Now, suck.”

The metal flooring of the funhouse dug painfully into your knees, but you pushed the pain from your mind as you focused entirely on Bucky’s cock. Wrapping your lips around the head, you sucked gently, the taste of his precum bursting on your tongue. Your chest warmed with pride when he groaned in pleasure.

You’d intended to take your time—wanting to savor Bucky’s cock and learn every inch of the thick, veiny length before making him come in your mouth. But it seemed your horror movie crush didn’t have the patience for that. You supposed you shouldn’t be surprised. You did make him chase you. 

“Is that all ya got, little cottontail?” Bucky growled, using the hand on your head to push you down roughly on his cock, making you gag, your hands flailing against his hard thighs. “I thought you were some kind of slut—thought you’d be throating my cock the second you got your lips around it.” 

Tears poured down your cheeks as he pushed deeper with a grunt, your fingers curling into fists against his thighs as you tried to open for him. Bucky’s cock forcing its way into your throat stung a little, and you worked to relax your muscles, but they kept squeezing tight, preventing his hard length from sliding all the way in.

Finally, Bucky pulled his cock free from your mouth and you gasped for breath, a hand massaging your throat, the inside feeling raw already. But Bucky didn’t seem to care. 

He bent down over you, grabbing your face in his free hand and using the sharp end of his knife to wipe the tears from your face. 

“I thought you wanted this, baby,” he rumbled, his tone mocking and patronizing, a laugh in his distorted voice that made you think he was grinning and enjoying your struggle more than he was trying to let on. “You said I could fuck you as hard and rough as I want.” He paused to tsk at you. “You can’t even take my cock without gagging—some slut you are.”

Embarrassment and no small amount of humiliation flooded through you, making you pout. OK so maybe you were more of a slut in theory than in practice, but you did want this. And you’d been trying. Couldn’t he see that?

Crossing your arms over your chest, you glared up at Bucky, your lips still pursed in a pout. 

“Your cock is too big,” you huffed, a hint of a whine in your voice. “Let me try again.”

Bucky laughed, the sound cold and mean, though that only made your pussy drip even more for him. He patted your cheek patronizingly with his knife before fixing you with a hard look.

“You either take my whole cock in your dumb slut mouth, little cottontail,” he growled, a threat in his tone. “Or I’ll make you take it, ya hear me?”

The menace in his deep voice sent a shiver racing down your spine, settling heavily between your thighs until you had to squeeze them together against the ache in your core. You nodded your understanding. “Yes, sir,” you murmured. 

“Good girl,” came Bucky’s rumbling, terrifying voice. Then he stood up and shoved his cock into your mouth again, so suddenly that all you could do was make a muffled, surprised noise and take it. 

You bobbed on the hard, thick length of Bucky’s cock, stretching your lips until the edges stung, forcing his girth deep into your mouth. You gagged when the tip pressed against the back of your throat, but you tried to ignore your body’s response and work past it. No matter how hard you tried, though, you couldn’t get his dick all the way inside your mouth.

After a few minutes of letting you try and watching you fail, Bucky let out an impatient growl before muttering, “Looks like you need me to make you take my cock, baby.” Both his hands grabbed your head and he tilted it back, so your gaze met his. “Just remember, if you’d been a better slut, you wouldn’t have made me do this.”

Your eyes widened, tears leaking out the corners as he moved you into the new position he wanted, with your back to one of the mirrors, your head trapped between the hard surface and his cock. Your fingers fisted in the fabric of his pants near his knees, but you didn’t protest, just stared up at your horror movie villain, anticipation zipping through your body.

“Don’t worry, little cottontail,” Bucky rumbled, and you could tell he was smiling again, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a telltale way. “This won’t hurt nearly as much as if I’d slit your throat—but it’ll probably last longer than it would’ve taken you to bleed out.”

At that ominous comment, your pussy clenched, even more wetness dripping from your pussy and soaking your shorts. You clenched your thighs together, but that was the only part of your body you could move other than your arms. You were helpless to Bucky’s brutality, and you loved it. If his cock wasn’t already buried in your mouth, you would’ve urged him on.

Wasting no more time, Bucky shoved his dick deep into your mouth, pushing past the squeezing muscles in your throat, groaning when you choked and gagged on his thick cock. Your jaw ached and your throat felt raw, but you accepted it, you welcomed it. Bucky’s roughness was only making your pussy wetter, and you couldn’t wait until you could feel him sinking into your tight, wet hole.

Still, you couldn’t quite control your body’s reaction to the intrusion in your throat. Your throat spasmed and you let out a strangled little sound of desperation as it got harder to breathe. You arms flailed and your body tried to escape, only to bang against the mirror behind you. The fact that you were trapped, really trapped, made more tears leak from your eyes. 

“That’s it, baby, cry for me while you’re choking on my cock,” Bucky rumbled, holding your head in his hands as he stared down at you, kneeling for him, your throat bulging with his cock. His eyes sparkled like he enjoyed the sight far too much. “Your dumb slut tears are making me harder.” 

You felt his cock throb in your throat as proof, but then he was pulling back, only for his hips to snap forward, burying his hard length in your throat all over again. More tears poured down your face, your throat closing on a sob that wrenched a deep, pleasured groan from Bucky.

“Fuck, that’s it—take it, slut, you might be crying, but you fucking love it, don’t you, little cottontail?” Bucky rumbled, breathless laughter in his tone. “You love letting me use your mouth like my own personal fuck toy, bet your pussy’s dripping onto the floor, making a mess of your thighs like ‘m gonna make a mess of your face, huh?”

You couldn’t help it, you moaned around Bucky’s cock, his words stoking the blazing fire of your arousal. It didn’t help matters that he was right—your thighs, your shorts and your panties were a mess, all soaked with your desire. 

Bucky grunted when he felt you moan around his hardness, his hips snapping against your face harder as he pounded into your mouth. His hands held your head in a punishing grip, his cock ramming deep into your throat while the back of your skull was pressed against the mirror behind you.

A whine worked its way up your throat as you squirmed, your pussy pulsing with the need to be filled, to be rubbed, to get some kind of attention. One of your hands fell between your thighs and you rocked against it, your clit rubbing against the seam of your shorts until you were moaning and sobbing around Bucky’s cock.

Suddenly he stopped. “What’re you doin’ down there, little cottontail?” he rasped, ducking his head to the side so he could see around his cock and your face. When he caught you with your hand between your thighs, he laughed, his glittering blue eyes finding yours. “Oh, I see—the dumb little slut’s dripping hole needs some attention, huh?” 

Bucky shifted, using his booted foot to kick your thighs apart on the metal floor of the funhouse. Then he shoved his boot between your legs, and jerked his head like he expected you to sit on it.

“You need something to hump against, don’t you, baby?” he asked, his tone mocking. “Well, go ‘head. Ride my fucking boot, little cottontail.” His voice was dark and deep, the sound of it making you shiver. But you couldn’t pretend you didn’t want to follow his order, so you lowered yourself down onto his boot.

The moment your aching core dragged over the laces of Bucky’s boot, you let out a low, filthy moan, the sound muffled by his cock in your mouth. It was exactly the kind of friction you wanted, your clit and messy slit rubbing against the seam of your shorts and the roughness of his laces. Pleasure bloomed, hot and heady, and swirled through your body, overwhelming your mind.

Above you, Bucky groaned, shoving deeper into your throat until your nose was pressed into the thick thatch of hair at the base of his cock and his balls were nestled up against your chin. Spit and precum and tears were leaking down your face, making a mess of your jaw and chin, dripping down to your tits while Bucky watched you with hooded eyes.

“Do that again, baby,” Bucky grunted, holding your head down on his hardness. “Moan like a dumb fucking slut on my cock while I ruin your throat.” 

It took little effort to moan again as pleasure and pain swirled through your body, your hips working on Bucky’s boot, grinding your slick cunt against the stiff leather through your panties and shorts. Your clit rubbed over the laces, your mind filling with clouds of bliss as you sank into the feeling of your pussy grinding against Bucky’s boot and his cock fucking your throat.

Bucky was grunting and groaning loudly, his sounds of pleasure a reward for how good your slutty mouth was making him feel. He pounded into your face, his balls slapping against your chin, seeking his release while you humped against his boot, intent on finding your own pleasure while he used you. 

You were both lost entirely in each other, too focused on seeking pleasure to notice someone else had entered the funhouse. Bucky’s eyes were only for you, and you were staring up too intently into his face, watching pleasure make his eyes go hazy to pay attention to your surroundings—which was the only reason one of the final girl’s friends was able to sneak up on the two of you.

“Get away from her, you monster!” The girl’s shriek was followed closely by the splintering sound of a wooden bat as she swung it at Bucky, and the thing shattering apart against his back. Her face, twisted in fury and determination, quickly shifted to surprise and panic.

For his part, Bucky merely grunted, barely lurching forward as he shoved his cock impossibly deeper in your throat while he bore the attack. But then he was moving quicker than your pleasure-drunk eyes could fully process, your body only aware that he was pulling back until only the tip of him remained on your tongue. Growling furiously, Bucky turned and used his knife to slash the girl’s throat.

You vaguely recognized the girl as one of the characters in Slasher who gets killed at the carnival in the third act, though you couldn’t remember which ride Bucky kills her on. Maybe it was the funhouse—that would explain how she found the two of you.

In that moment, you didn’t much care. You’d been busy with Bucky and you were more than a little annoyed at the interruption. Your body was buzzing with your unslaked need, and you felt horny and frustrated as you turned your attention back to the horror villain above you.

But Bucky’s focus was entirely on the other girl, who was grabbing her throat uselessly, trying to stem the gush of blood as she stumbled into a mirror, leaving a bloody handprint behind. Bucky’s eyes were gleaming as he savored the sight of the dying girl, the corners of his eyes crinkling like he was grinning.

His cock was still in your mouth, but just barely, and the longer he watched the other girl die, the more a pout grew on your lips. 

After a few long moments of the girl’s death dragging on, you’d had enough. This was your fantasy come to life, and if Bucky wasn’t going to pay attention to you and get you off, then you were going to make him. 

Carefully, you extracted yourself from between Bucky and the mirror you’d been pressed against, your pout only growing when his stiff cock slipped from your lips and he didn’t even notice. Quickly, you crawled around the corner and once you were out of sight, you hopped up to your feet so you could move faster.

Your legs felt weak from your earlier running and kneeling on the hard, metal floor—not to mention how close you’d been to coming on Bucky’s boot. But you urged them to work as you moved as quietly as you could through the rest of the maze.

You were already almost to the exit when Bucky finally noticed you’d escaped. His angry roar of, “COTTONTAIL!” echoed off the mirrors and metal walls inside the funhouse. But his rage only made you snicker. It was his own fault, after all.

“You shoulda tied me down or paid more attention to me if you didn’t want me getting away, Mr. Slasher,” you called over your shoulder, taunting him as you darted around the final corner in the mirror maze, finding your way out. You clambered through the rest of the funhouse, Bucky’s stomping footsteps reverberating around you and making your heart beat faster with fear and excitement.

You slid down the slide that worked as the exit from the funhouse and as soon as your feet hit the grass of the fairground, you sprinted off again. Wracking your brain, you tried to think about where else Bucky kills the final girl’s friends in the final act of Slasher. All you could remember was the ending, with the carousel.

You turned a corner, running in the opposite direction of the carousel and that area of the carnival, not wanting the final girl or anymore of her friends interrupting you once Bucky caught you again.

Sooner than you expected, a leather-clad chest slammed into your back and, within the next breath, you hit the grassy ground as Bucky tackled you. One of his hands wrapped around the front of your throat, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck while he pressed his face into the side of yours.

Even through his hard plastic mask, you could feel his breath on your skin, his hot, heavy breaths gusting past your cheek as he panted like a rabid dog. 

“I win again, baby,” Bucky growled, his voice even more threatening thanks to the fury in it. He clearly didn’t appreciate that you’d made him chase you again, and the coldness in his tone promised that while you might find pleasure in what he was about to do to you, you were also going to feel no small amount of pain. 

“And you can be sure I won’t make the same mistake twice,” he went on, resting more of his weight on your back until you were pinned to the ground beneath him, your body struggling to catch your breath as he crushed your lungs. “Now that I have you, you’re never getting away from me again—you’re mine, little cottontail.”

Your heart panged in your chest, and it took you a second to realize the feeling was yearning. Because that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? You wanted someone to see you at your brattiest, with your darkest desires all laid out—and even seeing your soul bared for them, you wanted them to want to keep you. Part of you wanted to roll over and open your legs for Bucky, tell him you were his forever. But that wasn’t really in your nature.

Instead, you huffed a belated laugh, squirming beneath Bucky and fighting against his considerable strength even though you knew it was no good. You weren’t going anywhere, and you loved it.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Mr. Slasher,” you taunted, bucking your hips hard. You felt Bucky’s big body jostle just a little and, sensing a glimmer of freedom, you fought harder. 

Then cold steel replaced Bucky’s hand at your throat and you went still. Despite the fact that he’d used the knife mere moments ago to kill someone else, you were almost certain he wasn’t going to do the same to you. Well, pretty certain.

Besides, you were still convinced you were in a dream and dying would only wake you up. But with Bucky’s knife pressed to your neck, you didn’t exactly want to test your theory.

The horror movie villain chuckled, his chest rumbling against your spine and his breath ghosting over your cheek. 

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve done all night, little cottontail,” he murmured, his voice so dark and deep, it made you shiver. 

He dug the steel of his knife into your throat, using his other hand to guide you up onto your hands and knees. Bucky’s big body was curled over yours, his hand reaching beneath you to grope your tits while he groaned against the side of your face. 

“Such soft tits, baby,” he grunted as his fingers kneaded your flesh through your tank top. Then his hand was diving under the fabric to pinch your nipples, making you cry out and arch your back. “Yeah, that’s it, ya dumb slut, let me hear how much you like having a monster like me playing with your tits.”

You whimpered when he pinched your nipple hard and shook your breast, the sting of pain and pleasure consuming your mind and making you grind back against his thick cock, which he’d tucked back into his pants. An impatient whine tumbled from your lips and it was on the tip of your tongue to beg Bucky to fuck you, but it seemed he was just as eager to get on with it.

Skimming his hand down your body, Bucky found the button of your shorts and quickly undid them. He sat up on his knees, dragging you with him and keeping his knife at your throat. 

He shoved your shorts and panties down roughly past your ass to your thighs, then dipped his hand between your legs. A loud groan rumbled in his chest when he realized how wet you were. 

“Fuck, you really are a slut, aren’t you, baby?” he taunted in a mocking tone, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. His fingers slipped between your drenched folds and all you could do to answer him was moan as he teased your pussy. “I’m gonna fill up this slick cunt, little cottontail,” he rumbled in your ear, a promise ringing in his words. “I’m gonna destroy your tight hole until you’re nothing more than my dumb, cock-drunk slut.”

Between Bucky’s fingers playing with your pussy and his words wreaking havoc on your pleasure-soaked mind, you were desperate for him to follow through on his promise. 

Suddenly, you’d had enough of the game you’d been playing with Bucky and you wanted him to finally—finally—fuck you.

“Please, Bucky, please, please, fuck me,” you sobbed, tears leaking from your eyes and down your cheeks as you rocked your ass against his hard cock. “Please, god, I need it—I need you.”

For a moment, Bucky was silent and unmoving. Then he was shoving you forward into the grass so you were back on your hands and knees. His knife just barely grazed the side of your neck as you fell forward, and you whimpered at the light sting of it.

The next thing you knew, Bucky’s cock was slapping against your bare ass, and he was lining himself up with your soaked, fluttering pussy. Your fingers dug into the grass, preparing yourself to hold on for dear life.

“Remember, little cottontail, you said I could fuck you as hard and rough as I want,” Bucky rumbled, sliding his cock between your legs, coating his thick length in your desire. “If it’s too much for you, you can scream all you want, but I’m not stopping until I’ve filled your cunt with all the come in my balls.”

You could hear the laughter in Bucky’s voice, but didn’t have time to respond to his words because in the next second, he shoved himself all the way inside you with one thrust.

Bucky’s thick, hard cock slammed deep into your tight pussy, and a scream wrenched free from your lips, making your already raw throat hurt even more. But it was the delicious kind of pain that mixed perfectly with the feeling of Bucky filling you up for the first time. 

His girth was bigger than anyone or any toy you’d taken before, and it felt like you were being split apart, your insides rearranging to make room for his huge cock. It was only because you were so wet that it didn’t really hurt, but the sting of the stretch was enough to send your mind reeling, your thoughts scattering until the only thing that mattered was Bucky’s cock inside you and his body behind you.

Bucky made a noise that was half groan, half growl—sounding entirely feral behind his mask as his hands dug into your hips. You could feel him still holding his knife, but the steel wasn’t pressed against your skin so you didn’t give it much thought.

“God, that’s a tight fucking cunt ya got here, cottontail,” he rasped, pulling back and slamming forward so hard, your arms shook and you nearly collapsed face first into the grass. “Feel like you were fucking made for me, baby—made to be my fuck hole, made to take my cock.”

True to his word, the horror movie villain rutted into you hard, paying no mind to your pleasure, just taking his own. But that was exactly how you liked it, and you couldn’t help the litany of desperate moans and whimpers that tumbled past your lips. 

Before long, your arms gave out and your cheek pressed to the grass, which was cool against your face. The position made your back arch and your ass stick up in the air. Bucky made a pleased sound, slapping your ass in a gesture that almost felt like praise.

“Yeah, take it like a slut, baby,” he growled, pounding into you harder—hard enough you could feel your ass and hips and thighs ripple with the force of his thrusts. “This is how dumb sluts are meant to be fucked.”

You whined at the searing pleasure of Bucky’s cock hammering into your cunt, and you arched your back further, giving him easier access to drive even deeper into you from behind. Your reward was another hard slap on your ass—that time with the cold flat steel of Bucky’s knife. You squealed, then moaned as the sharp sting devolved into even more pleasure.

Bucky laughed, the sound wild and dark. Then he curled his body over yours, dropping the knife in the grass so he could grab wrap one of his hands around your throat while the other groped your tits. 

“You’re mine, little cottontail,” he growled in your ear. “I own your body now, and you’re going to be my personal fuck toy for the rest of your life.” He rutted into you, hard and rough, his hips slapping against your ass mixing with the sounds of your wet pussy being fucked. “I’m gonna chain you up in my basement, and you’re gonna be my basement slut—my little cottontail—forever.”

It was impossible to nod, and impossible to speak, with how tightly Bucky had you pinned beneath him while he fucked you. So you wrapped a hand around his wrist, not pulling him away, but squeezing hard enough that you could feel his pulse thrumming beneath your thumb. You clung to him, telling him wordlessly that you were submitting to him, tears gathering in your lashes as pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, pounding you hard and fast, the hard plastic of his mask digging into the side of your face. “Cry for me, cottontail, you know it makes me harder.” 

His fingers dug into the sides of your throat while his other hand tortured your nipples, tugging and pinching them, until your tears began leaking from your eyes. Bucky ducked forward, nuzzling your tear-stained cheek through his mask, groaning as he hit a spot inside of you that made your whole body clench and your mouth drop open in a soundless scream.

“I can feel your cunt choking my cock, baby,” Bucky rumbled in your ear. “You really love everything I’m doing to you, don’t you, dumb slut?” His hips pressed against your ass and he started grinding his cock deep in your core, the tip brushing against that spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Yes, yes, Bucky, yes,” you sobbed, your words breathless and soft and only able to escape because he’d loosened his hold on your throat slightly. But then he tightened his fingers again and you made a desperate little gasping sound.

Bucky laughed, the sound evil and mocking, and your cunt pulsed again. He refocused on fucking you, pounding into you and chasing his own pleasure. You tried to scream, the pleasure nearly mind-blowing, but his hand on your throat made sure you could only make the barest of noises.

“You’re gonna come on my cock, little cottontail,” Bucky rumbled, his hard plastic mask chafing against your sensitive cheek. “You’re gonna come and show me that you’re mine, that you accept your new life—and me as your master.”

Your fingers squeezed his wrist again in understanding, and then you couldn’t think anymore. Bucky’s cock was pounding into your pussy hard enough to almost hurt, pleasure pulsing through your body as he plucked and played with your tits. Your head was going fuzzy from a lack of air, but that just made everything else feel better and more.

When Bucky’s hand abandoned your tits to slip between your thighs, it only took a few strokes of his fingers against your clit to set you off. At the same moment, Bucky’s hand loosened around your throat, and oxygen flooded your lungs as you came on his cock. 

It was almost an out-of-body experience, coming on the thick length of your horror movie villain crush, your mind going entirely blank as your body tried to process all the pleasure and sensation flooding through it. A loud, piercing scream sounded in your ears and it took a second to realize it was spilling from your own lips. 

Bucky’s hand tightened around your throat again, tighter than before, cutting off the sound of your pleasure while he grunted and groaned above you. He was rutting into you as your walls squeezed his cock, taking his pleasure as he prolonged yours.

Blackness was starting to creep into the edges of your vision when he finally roared loudly, his cock throbbing inside you as he spilled his come deep in your pussy. His fingers dug into the sides of your throat harder, choking you through his orgasm as your body fluttered with the last waves of your release. 

The last thing you heard was Bucky muttering, “Good girl, take my come, little cottontail,” as he pumped you full of his thick, sticky seed. Then, there was nothing but comforting darkness, and you sank into it, feeling satisfied and happy as you passed out in the arms of your horror movie villain…

Now, the choice is yours, dear reader. Do you want to stay with Bucky Barnes and live in the world of Slasher? If so, read on for the dark ending! Or do you want to wake up and meet someone a little less psychotic? If so, skip down to the fluffy ending!

Slasher - Dark Ending

dark ending additional warnings: dubcon, somnophilia, slightly painful sex, basement wife-ing, references to Bucky's arm amputation, Bucky is even more psychotic

You were woken by your body jostling against concrete, an aching mix of pleasure and pain radiating between your thighs. The slick sounds of fucking met your ears and, belatedly, you realized you were impaled on a cock, the thickness of it stretching your tight hole to its limit. 

Your inner thighs felt chafed and your back hurt from the position you were contorted in, your shoulders propped up against a cinderblock wall while you were folded in half at the waist, a heavy body pinning your legs to your chest while they fucked you. You were naked and a little cold, but the body against you was warm.

Blinking your eyes open, you were met with the sight of Bucky’s handsome face contorted with pleasure as he fucked you. There was a new glimmer in the depths of his blue eyes—something wild and feral and more than a little frightening. His mouth spread into a savage grin when he saw you were awake.

“There’s my little cottontail,” he rumbled before ducking down and kissing your cheek in a gesture that would’ve been sweet if not for his stubble roughing over your sensitive skin. You whimpered softly at the abrading feeling, your pussy pulsing despite your exhaustion.

When he pulled back, the sound of chains rattling above you finally caught your attention and you looked up, finding your wrists shackled above your head and bolted into the wall of the basement. Dim morning light was filtering in through windows set high in the walls, and you couldn’t make out much beyond the shadow of the stairs leading up to the first floor.

Before you could gather you wits enough to ask a question, or wade through your confusion to figure out what question you should even ask, Bucky slammed deep inside you, wringing a weak moan from you. It was only then that you realized he’d been taking it easy on you while you were asleep, but since you were awake, he started fucking you harder. Pleasure, pain and bewilderment warred with the tiredness of just waking up as you tried to think. 

Your eyes slid closed while you tried to block out Bucky and your surroundings. You needed to figure out why you weren’t in your grandmother’s basement, having woken up from the dream you’d been sure you were having.

But Bucky didn’t like that. His weight settled more heavily on top of you, making your hips ache in protest, and grabbed your face roughly in his hand. 

“Look at me, cottontail,” he rumbled, shaking your head until your eyes fluttered open again.

Tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes and your mouth worked, trying to find the words for how you felt. You’d wanted this—wanted someone like Bucky who saw who you really were and still wanted to keep you. But now that you were actually chained up in his basement, you wondered if maybe you’d jumped in the deep end without being able to swim. 

“Don’t look so confused, baby,” Bucky growled in a patronizingly sweet tone, thumbing your tears from your cheeks and making you flinch as the salt of them irritated your skin. “I told you I was never letting you go—you knew this was going to happen.” He was grinding his cock deep into your well-used cunt, the pleasure almost painful. “Now that you’re chained up in my basement, you have no hope of ever escaping from me again.”

The head of his cock battered against your cervix and you cried out, your head thumping against the cinderblock wall behind you. The pain mixed with the pleasure of thick length rubbing against your sensitive inner walls until your mind was spinning. 

You just couldn’t wrap your head around it. You really hadn’t known this was going to happen. You’d thought you were dreaming and were going to wake up after you’d fucked Bucky Barnes, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Apparently you’d really somehow been transported into the world of Slasher.

“Thank me for keeping you, little cottontail,” Bucky growled, wringing another pleasured whimper from you as he kept grinding his cock into you. “After all, it wasn’t easy getting you here after that bitch crushed my arm.” His voice was dripping venom and he rocked his hips harder, forcing tears from your eyes as his cock battered your cervix.

It was only then that you understood why so much of Bucky’s weight was resting on you while his hand held your face. Darting your eyes to Bucky’s shoulder, there was a thick, bloody bandage wrapped around the place where he must’ve amputated his arm after the final girl had crushed it in the carousel gears. 

Your stomach rolled at the sight, empathy for Bucky surging through you. It really couldn’t have been easy getting you back to his house when he was injured like that. 

But before you could follow the order he’d given you, Bucky yanked your face back to look at him. He ducked closer, so all you could see were his eyes, wild and psychotic, boring into your own.

“Thank your master for keeping you!” he growled harshly.

Your heart panged, and you rushed to do as he said. “Th-thank you for keeping me, Bucky,” you cried, tears streaming down your face, your voice filled with genuine gratitude. “Thank you, master!” 

The anger leeched out of Bucky at your words and your tears, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside you. 

“Good girl,” he purred, nuzzling your cheek in reward and kissing your jaw with his soft lips. “My good, dumb slut—you’re going to make such a good basement wife for me.”

A small, confused noise squeaked out of you and Bucky pulled back, a grin on his face. He nodded up toward your hands and you twisted them in your shackles, finding shiny, silver metal glinting off your left ring finger. You sucked in a gasp, feeling speechless as your mind failed to process another shocking revelation in so little time.

“Your dream is coming true, baby,” Bucky rumbled, licking the tears from your cheeks, taking your silence as understanding and submission. “You’re going to be my own personal fuck hole—my pretty little dumb slut—for the rest of your life.”

Bucky canted his hips, grinding his cock into the depths of your pussy while the base of him rubbed against your clit and the pleasure that had been winding tighter in your core suddenly snapped. You came with a loud, sobbing scream, your head thrown back against the wall of the basement as tears cascaded down your cheeks while you succumbed to the pleasure, your cunt greedily squeezing Bucky’s cock.

A small part of you wanted to black out again, hoping you’d wake up back in your grandmother’s basement, unsure if you had what it took to be the full-time fuck toy of your favorite horror movie villain. But somehow you knew that wouldn’t happen.

Whatever had transported you into the world of Slasher seemed to be a one-way ticket, and you’d made your choices. The fact that you were at the mercy of Bucky Barnes was no one’s fault but your own.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret anything you’d done. After all, you’d gotten exactly what you wanted—you got to fuck Bucky Barnes. And if you had your way, you’d fuck Bucky Barnes every day until you died. Which was good, since that seemed to be exactly what he had planned for you.

Just then, Bucky grunted, his cock twitching inside you and he slammed deep, grabbing your face and pulling you in for a messy kiss while he came, coating your insides with his seed. His lips were hard and demanding, but you weren’t some wilting flower—you nipped his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. 

Bucky’s cock throbbed inside you as he chuckled, kissing you again, the taste of his blood bursting on your tongue as you devoured each other. 

When he pulled away and collapsed on top of you, a satisfied smile curved your lips. You glanced up at the ring on your finger again, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to be Bucky Barnes’ basement wife. 

Slasher - Fluffy Ending

fluffy ending additional warnings: talk about past roleplay, some potentially risky decisions on reader's part, that's really it

You awoke with a start, the loud, chiming sound of the doorbell echoing through your grandmother’s house and dragging you back to reality from the depths of your dream. A faint soreness permeated your body, and you frowned, the memory of your dream clinging to the edges of your mind.  

Groggily, you opened your eyes to find you were curled up on the familiar rug in the basement of your grandmother’s house, and you suspected the hard floor was likely the cause of your soreness. Still, you felt a faint tingling all over, the remnants of pleasure from your dream and you smiled as you stretched languidly, easing most of the aches in your limbs.

The doorbell chimed again, and you dragged yourself up, wiping drool from your cheek as you pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself and climbed the stairs up to the first floor. On your way to the door, you checked the time, finding it was nearly midnight, and wondered who was stopping by so late. All your relatives and all your grandmother’s friends would be asleep.

Flicking on the porch light, you opened the front door, but the left the screen door latched when you found a strange man standing there. The frigid autuman night air wrapped around you, and you crossed your arms over your chest to stave off a shiver. 

“Hey Mrs—” The man had been standing with his back to you, facing the street, and swung around when he heard the door open. But he paused when he saw you, his greeting cutting off as if he’d been expecting someone else. 

A distant corner of your brain pointed out that of course he was expecting someone else—you were answering the door at your grandmother’s house.

But you couldn’t pay attention to your mind’s logic because you were silently freaking out. The man looked almost exactly like Bucky Barnes. 

He had the same sparkling blue eyes, though there wasn’t any of the cold hatred that haunted your favorite horror movie villain. And his mouth was curved into a charming smile, which you knew for certain you’d never see on the version of Bucky from Slasher. The man’s hair was also shorter, and the stubble on his jaw was a little less scruffy, like he’d shaved that morning and it had grown out since then. The style really worked for him. 

He was somehow even more attractive than Bucky Barnes. You didn’t know how that was possible, but apparently it was. 

The man shifted on his feet, running a hand through his hair, looking a little abashed. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb ya,” he said, a slight Brooklyn accent in his voice. “Sometimes I borrow some ground coffee from the lady who lives here when I’ve run out.” He shot you a sheepish smile and shrugged. “And I’ve run out.”

“Oh,” you said, a little dumbly. “You must be talking about my grandmother.” Your surprise over the man’s resemblance to Bucky was wearing off, and you found that his smile was infectious. He had a charm to him that made you want to tell him more than you should, which must’ve been why you found yourself saying, “She’s on a cruise, and I’m watching her house.”

It might’ve been a mistake to tell a strange man that much, but instead of doing anything to make you second-guess yourself, he just smacked a hand against his forehead. The gesture was so endearing, you couldn’t help but laugh, warming to him even more. 

“You’re right! She told me about that.” He paused for a moment, his gaze raking over your face—hopefully not finding any traces of drool on your chin—and his eyes softened. “Sorry again to bother you, your gran’s normally up watching one of those late shows, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

You snorted to yourself. Of course your grandmother was known for staying up later than you. But you didn’t want the man to feel bad. It wasn’t like he woke you up before you came on dream Bucky’s cock. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” you said, shaking your head and smiling softly to let him know it really was fine. Again, you had the urge to say more to him than you normally would to a stranger. So, before you could hold your tongue, you blurted, “Do you know you look exactly like the villain from this old horror movie?” 

Even in the dim yellow light of the porch, you could see the man’s cheeks turn pink while he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. But he was hiding a smile behind his palm and when he caught your eye, there was humor in the depths of his gaze.

“Yeah, I get that sometimes,” he said, his voice suddenly lower. “Bucky Barnes from Slasher, right?” 

You nodded, almost mesmerized as you stared into his eyes. “I had the biggest crush on him,” you admitted, because apparently the filter between your brain and mouth had been left on the rug in your grandmother’s basement. But the man only chuckled, the light flush fading from his face.

“Did you now?” he asked, his eyes shimmering with humor as he looked at your face, his gaze raking over the curve of your lips. He shifted closer to the door and a shiver skated down your spine at the way he loomed over you. “Y’know, my friends have called me Bucky ever since we watched that movie one summer when were idiot kids.”

“Y-your name’s Bucky?” you asked, excitement making your voice come out like a whisper. 

The man looked to the side and chuckled, the sound low and rich and making you want to giggle ridiculously and kick your feet. When his gaze found yours again, his eyes were sparkling with playfulness and something more; his mouth was curved into a devastatingly charming grin.

“No, my name is James Barnes, but pretty much everyone calls me Bucky.” He watched you absorb this information, shifting even closer to the door until you could feel the warmth of him seeping through the screen. “Would you like to call me Bucky, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice pitching so low and deep, you could feel it between your thighs.

Your shoulders trembled as you shivered, nodding eagerly as you whispered, “Yes, please.”

Bucky rumbled a pleased sound, and his hand raised toward the screen, like he was reaching for you. But then he paused, as if catching himself. Huffing a laugh, he drew his hand back and wiped it down his face, seemingly forcing himself to straighten and take a step back. 

You almost whined in protest, but caught yourself at the last second, biting your lip against a frown as he moved away. You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had drifted to each other through the door until he was pulling away. You understood it was probably weird, the way you were acting with each other considering you just met, but the chemistry between you was palpable, and you desperately wanted to explore it as soon as possible.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I have the mask,” Bucky confessed, breaking you free from your thoughts. 

You were glad for it, because he was giving you another loaded look and you felt your belly swoop, butterflies taking flight as he smiled at you. It took a second to process his words, and when you did, you couldn’t help the impish grin that spread across your face. You gestured for him to go on.

“I bought it for a girl I was seeing who said she wanted to roleplay,” he went on, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looking off to the side again, like he knew he wasn’t supposed to be telling this to a girl he just met, but couldn’t help himself. “But I think I scared her off.” He turned his penetrating gaze back to you, pinning you in place while you held your breath. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who scares easily.”

You snorted again and tossed your head. That was an understatement, if your dream was any indication of your desires—which it was. You gave the man called Bucky a cheeky smile. “No, I’m definitely not,” you told him, a hint of a challenge in your tone.

For a long moment, the two of you just stood there, staring at each other. Then, you made a slightly reckless decision. Your hand reached for the latch of the screen door and pushed it open, all while holding his gaze. 

“Why don’t you come in and get that coffee you needed,” you offered, hoping your instincts about Bucky were right, and he would turn out to be exactly the kind of man you wanted in your life. Besides, you told yourself, your grandmother liked him well enough to lend him some coffee—and you trusted her judgement so he must be a decent guy. “And you can tell me what about your roleplay frightened off that girl.”

Bucky’s smile spread into a full-on grin, and he eagerly grabbed the door, opening it wider while he stepped forward. When you didn’t move back right away and instead allowed him to step into your personal space, his gaze dropped to your mouth, his eyes darkening and the corners of his mouth twitching in another smile.

“Deal,” he rumbled. “So long as you tell me more about this crush of yours.”

The memories of your dream flitted through your mind, feeling more real than any dream you’d ever had before, and you found you couldn’t wait to tell Bucky about it. The man in front of you was warmer and kinder than the one you’d met in your dreams, but you had a feeling he had a dark side that liked to come out to play—just like you. 

“Deal.” After you said the word, you felt as if something truly special was beginning and your heart raced with excitement as you stared up into Bucky’s handsome face. Both of you were grinning like idiots.

Finally taking a step back, you welcomed Bucky into your grandmother’s house, knowing deep in your bones that you were going to be in each other’s lives for a very long time—possibly even forever. And you couldn’t help but think that having this Bucky Barnes was even better than dreaming about your horror movie villain crush. After all, at least he was real.

[yourbuckies]

She doesn't hold back and I love her for that.

[fierymiasma]

✰ Homecoming ✰ // Sebastian x f!MC

Summary: She visits Sebastian in Azkaban ten years after sending him there. The years haven't been kind to him.

He decides to return the favor and pay her a visit in Feldcroft in her lonely cottage. He's not letting her out of his sight ever again.

Part 2

Tags: Dark!Sebastian, Azkaban!Sebastian, angst, Making out, Jealous!Sebastian, Obsession, Possessiveness, Sebastian living his villain era.

|| Masterlist || AO3 ||

A/N: Thinking of making this a series.  Let me know what you think! 

"You don't have to do this."  Natty softly reminded her, eyes brimming with concern.

The savior of Hogwarts clenched her jaw, refusing to look at Natty.  The salt from waves crashing on the island that held Azkaban stung her eyes.  Ten years had passed since she had condemned Sebastian Sallow to Azkaban.  Not a day had gone by that she did not question her choices.

Had that one singular moment changed the course of her future?  Life after Hogwarts hadn't been too kind to her, though she suspected, she was a lot more fortunate than Sebastian.  Ominis and Anne were always there for her, whenever they had free time apart from each other, that is.  Maybe, Sebastian would find some comfort that his oldest friend was taking care of his twin sister.

She craned her neck up gazing at the imposing prison on front of her.

…Or maybe he'd be betrayed that Ominis had moved on from the other boy so quickly.

"Are you sure you're up for this?"  Natty asked again, interrupting her thoughts.  The auror worried at her bottom lip.  "My friend, we don't have to do this today.  Let's come back another time."

They both knew that was impossible.  Natty, the newly appointed head auror of her division had pulled so many strings to arrange this meeting.  And the hero of Hogwarts herself, had flexed her name to wave away any scrutiny.

Nervously, her hand drifting to her left shoulder, right on top of her most recent burn wound.  Nestled underneath protective wrapping was a reminder of her most recent bout of carelessness and string of poor decision making.  How many times had she staggered back to Feldcroft, bleeding on Anne's freshly polished doorsteps?  She knew Anne, Ominis, and all her friends hated the long spiral of self-loathing she had embarked on.  How she disappeared for days, even weeks at a time with little to no warning, only to come back wounded, pockets brimming with more gold and treasures.

Visiting Sebastian wouldn't be the first dumb decision she made this week.

"I have to do this, Natty."  She didn't know why.  "Let's go."

Passing through the heavy gated doors of the prison, she clutched her cape tighter, trying to protect herself from the bone-chilling cold around her.  She had been here once before, in her school days.  She looked around.  It was very much the same. She could see the puffs of cold air coming from her lips, no doubt thanks to the floating dementors above her.   Haunting, ghostly vestiges of men and women with dead eyes in living bodies.  Muttering anxious voices and abrupt screams echoed the long hallway to Sebastian's cell.  Decaying teeth in the emancipated skulls of prisoners waiting to die.

She was scared to see what had become of Sebastian, the troubled boy from her youth.

Walking deeper into the dark bowels of the prison, Natty stopped, shuffling nervously.  "You go on ahead.  I'll wait here."  It was too painful to see a once close childhood friend in the state he was in.

The hero of Hogwarts cringed.  This was all her fault.

Creeping up quietly to jail cell, she noticed how the fading moonlight illuminated the person imprisoned there.  A man's back was turned away from the door.  Shirtless, she could see the constellation of freckles.  Deep scars had long since healed in ragged patterns on his back.  There were long linear wounds freshly oozing.  Dark red, slowly clotting blood stained the beautiful freckles.  She shuddered to think how he could have gotten those.  His prison number was tattooed on his left deltoid.

The burn wound on her back tingled in sympathy. 

Sebastian. 

She must have whispered that out loud.  The boy-no-, the man, in front of her turned around.  She took a startled step back.

She expected hollowed wasting cheekbones like so many of the prisoners here.  What she hadn't expected was for Sebastian to have filled in so impressively.  All the adorable baby fat that had clung to his cheeks was now gone.  Well-defined toned muscles clung to his bones.  His shoulders were broader now.  He had a beard, which only framed his devastatingly handsome face.

And his eyes….fiercely beautiful, trained on her every movement like a predator lying in the shadows, waiting for his time to strike.  She couldn't help but shiver at the sight.  Sebastian blinked, his eyes roaming over her body, assessing her as much as she was him.

She inhaled sharply.  Underneath his scars, Sebastian had filled impressively. 

There was a pregnant pause as the two once friends looked at each other and how the decade of time had treated the other.

"I must finally be going mad, the most gorgeous girl in all of Hogwarts is standing right of front of me."  He cooed. 

She expected anger and resentment.  She hadn't expected this. 

She swallowed.  Well, looks like Azkaban didn't make him lose his charm.  "Hello, Sallow, I'm surprised you still remember me."

His voice was raspy.  "How could I forget?  The beautiful witch that put me behind these very bars."

He finally stood up, and she took another step back.  He was so much taller now.  The top of her head only came up to his shoulder now.  He got closer, hands gripping tightly on the bars of his cell.  "You look even more beautiful than the day I lost you."  His eyes roamed over her new curves greedily.  "Azkaban hasn't been kind to me.  But, someone must be looking out for me to bring you back to me."

The hero of Hogwarts coughed politely.  He was being far too forward.  "Sallow, I bring you news of Anne and Ominis, if you wish to hear it.  You deserve to know at least that."

Sebastian tilted his head and put on a mocking smile. "Oh, and where are they now?  I have not seen them since I walked through the doors of this prison."

She crossed her arms.  "They had good reason, Sallow."

His brows knitted together.  "Since when did you ever call me Sallow?  It's Sebastian to you, darling."

Her face burned.  Thank Merlin that the only guards here were witless dementors. 

"If you even care, both Anne and Ominis are well.  Anne is still in as much of good health as she can be, and Ominis is taking care of her."

He ignored her words.  "What about you?  How have you been?"  He asked.

She blinked.  The burn on her left scapula tightened in discomfort.  "I've been…well, I have a cottage in Feldcroft.  It was a good a place as any to settle down."

Sebastian pressed his face against the bars of his cell.  His manic, small pupils made him look a bit deranged.  "All by yourself?  No doting husband taking care of your every need?"

She said nothing, lest she reveal too much of her personal life.

Her silence was enough of an answer.  "Unmarried?"  The reflection of the torchlights flickered in his eyes.  "It is rare in this day and age to see a woman in her twenties unwed.  Why, some would wonder if you're waiting for someone."

She flushed.  He'd gone too far.  It seemed like a decade of Azkaban made him forget basic manners.  "That's none of your business, Sallow."  She barked.  She begun to turn away.

Wait," his hands clawed through the bars desperately grabbing after her.  "Please before you go, I just have one request."

Against every smart decision, she turned around. 

Sebastian grinned fiercely, his teeth clicking against the bars.  His sharp tongue dipped out licking his bottom lip.  "A kiss."

She was scandalized.  "Sebastian!  A kiss?  Here?"

His darkened eyes had not left hers.  He looked devilishly handsome.   "Not like the dementors could see."

This was a foolish mistake.  She shouldn't even be entertaining this madness.  And yet, she couldn't stop herself from stepping forward, getting closer to Sebastian's cell.  Her eyes fluttered towards his wide smile.  Sebastian had truly gone mad.  Angling her face between the bars, she leaned in.

Instantly, she was overwhelmed.  While she was expecting a chaste first kiss, Sebastian ravaged her.  His lips were heated, pressing bruisingly firm against hers.  The sharp tease of Sebastian's canine against her lips was dizzying.  Sebastian snuck his hands out of his cage, fingers clutching her hip.  Her skirt snagged the stone floor as he pulled her as hard as he could against the metal that were separating them.  This hypnotic kiss left her spellbound as Sebastian drank her red lips greedily.

She felt drunk when they parted.  Sebastian's tongue darted out, licking his bottom lip, chasing the last of her essence.  His dangerous eyes stared at her longingly.

As she left the depths of Azkaban with Natty, she couldn't stop thinking of those eyes that followed her as she left Sebastian.

It was their first kiss together, maybe their last. 

•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`

The sky was a dark grey when Ominis delivered the news.  She had been tending to her garden, trying her best to trim back rebellious  venomous tentaculas.

His face was ashen, stricken with grief, when Ominis approached her.  He held the latest Daily Prophet in his hand.  And somehow without him saying anything, she knew what news he brought.

Sebastian Sallow, Murderer of Solomon Sallow, Found Dead in His Cell

She looked at the tall blonde man before her.  Although he was a grown man, he looked quite like the scared child in the Undercroft asking her what to do about Solomon's death.  His usually stoic face was grief striken, tears threatening to spill over onto his cheeks. 

Sebastian Sallow…..dead.

She looked at Ominis, the bearer of bad news.  The ground swam before her vision.  Her knees felt too weak to support her.

"A-are you alright?"  He asked, tentatively.  A stupid question really, given the news.

She preceded to vomit on her poor garlic shoots.

•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`

It was two weeks since the death of Sebastian Sallow, a poor unfortunate boy who got mixed up in dark magic.  Ominis had taken care of the affairs, writing a polite, tersely short obituary.  Anne, took the unfortunately very familiar task of identifying and laying the body to rest.

And the hero of Hogwarts had done nothing.  Nothing but wallow in her bed.  Her limbs numb and body cold.  She was fortunate that Anne was capable of such strength as the poor sister ironically took care of her as she laid in bed her grief unable to move her. 

It was frankly pathetic for the strongest witch of their generation to be taken care of someone like Anne, especially given that it was Anne's own brother who had passed. 

"Please, you cannot lay in bed all day."  Anne sat beside her bed, begging the grieving girl.

She said nothing.  She hadn't spoken much since Ominis had told her the news.

Anne sighed before gathering her skirt.  She gingerly got up and moved towards the front door of the cottage.

The hero of Hogwarts stared listlessly at her friend's trailing form.

It was unfortunate that the wizarding world viewed ancient magic and dueling prowess as a greater strength over Anne's strong will. 

"I'm sorry."  she whispered lamely, knowing how inadequate her words were.

Anne turned around, staring at her.  The dark circles under the twin's eyes made her appear much older than she was.  She nodded slightly before closing the front door of the cottage behind her.

The minutes, or perhaps hours, passed languidly as the hero of Hogwarts laid in her bed.  By now all her magical plants have for sure wilted.  She was sure that the food remaining in her pantry had long rotten.  But she paid no heed to these.

Sebastian…

…what had she done?

"Hello, darling."

Emerging from the shadows on her cottage, like a dark creature, was Sebastian Sallow himself. 

For the first time in two weeks, she shot out of bed, hands habitually fumbling for her wand.

He looked nothing like how he did back in Azkaban.  Beard completely gone, hair trimmed, wearing robes that flattered his appearance, and smelling of unfamiliar cologne.  She couldn't help but wonder if he had done to escape Azkaban.

She shivered, thinking about the dead body they found in Sebastian's cell. 

"What's the matter?  Lost for words?"

Her mouth was agape.  What was he was doing here?  How did he get in without her noticing? She had half a mind to yell.  Ominis and Anne were so close that they would come to aid in in a minute's notice.

"Don't think about screaming for help."  Sebastian said, pacing the room.  I have already muffliatoed the whole cottage."

Her voice was sore from disuse.  "You shouldn't be here."

He looked around at the various of extraordinary knick knacks and forbidden trinkets that she had collected on her adventures.  His long robes swept around him.  "You have made yourself a nice little home."  His eyes flickered towards the single sized bed she slept on.  "Looks rather lonely doesn't it."

She was afraid.  She knew of a Sebastian Sallow, the big-hearted charismatic boy from 5th year.  This version of Sebastian, the man before her, was something else entirely.

He was a beast free of his cage.  Without the bars of Azkaban in between them, what was Sebastian capable of? 

He tapped a wand, something Sebastian wasn't supposed to have, loudly against his thigh.   He wasn't supposed to have one.  They had snapped his beautiful green handled wand in two the second he stepped foot in Azkaban.

Her eyes tracked Sebastian's pacing form closely.  "Are you going to kill me?"  She asked, her voice finally catching up to her.

Sebastian scowled,  "That's the first thing that's on your mind?"

She swallowed.  The wand in Sebastian's hand was very familiar.  "Why else would you be here then?  Other than to get revenge for what I did to you."

Sebastian laughed.  It was not the loving, charming one from school, but hallow and terrifying.  "Don't play dumb, darling.  You're far too clever for that."  He crowded her, nose practically touching hers.  The back of her knees hit the edge of her bed.  "You know why I'm here."

She inhaled deeply.  "I haven't had the foggiest idea what you mean."  She said, turning her head away from him.  He was so close to her, the tip of his nose brushed against her turned cheek.  "Please get out of my house.  I swear won't call for help.  I won't tell a soul you were here."

"You wound me.  After all you did to me, and you pretend to be a stranger."

"I have no idea what you mean."  She insisted through gritted teeth.

A very familiar wand pressed into her chin lifting her face up to look into his dark eyes.  "So you just let any crazy loon in Azkaban steal your precious wand from your pocket as you kiss them?  You just happen to have a bottle of Polyjuice potion in your left pocket, a potion you never carried back when we were in school together?"

She squeezed her eyes tightly, trying to drown on Sebastian's words.

She felt a hot breath of air against her ears.  "You let any man in Azkaban get close enough to you to kiss you?"

She collapsed onto her bed, head dizzy.  She blinked back tears.  To be held hostage by her own wand.  A part of her wondered if by tomorrow morning aurors would find her dead in her own house, killed by her own wand.

Sebastian wouldn't do that…would he? 

"Sebastian, I don't like what you're implying.  It's a crime to break anyone out of Azkaban.  Please," she sobbed.  "why are you here?"

Sebastian softened, his expression almost close to something she would recognize in her youth.  "You're full of surprises.  There I was, about to lose all hope and finally wither away like the rest of them when a miracle stumbles upon my cell."

She drew her knees to her chest.

" I'm here simply because I wanted to thank the prettiest girl I know for breaking a dangerous criminal like me out of Azkaban."

Bile swirled in her stomach.  She didn't know why she did it.  She didn't know what compelled her to spend a whole month brewing Polyjuice potion before seeing Sebastian.  She didn't know why she kept her wand in a conspicuous easy to grab location.   Sh-She hadn't…meant to do it.  It wasn't a conscious decision on her part.  There was no thorough thought-out plan in motion.

The ruse was up.  She sighed blinking away the tears.  "I knew you weren't dead.  The second that the Daily Prophet announced it, I knew you had escaped, and I was responsible for it."  She shook her head, trying to chase the tears away.  "Why I don't know is why are you here in Feldcroft in my house.  You could be anyway in the world right now.  Why here?  For payback?  For revenge?  To torture me?"

Sebastian's sly smile faltered a bit.  Did she really think so little of him?  In all of his years of Azkaban, all the torture, the madness…Did she not know, the only thing keeping him sane was his love of her?  How she was the shining beacon, a version of his own inner Patronus, in the darkness that not even the dementors could take away.  Perhaps they could drain him of their shared good memories, perhaps they could remove the happiness he felt upon thinking of her.  But what the dementors couldn't shake his pure love for her.  The thought of vengeance or any malice towards her hadn't even crossed his mind before she mentioned it. 

"Why wouldn't I come home to you?  This is where I belong, next to you."  Carefully, he wiped the tears away from her eyes.  His heavily scarred hands slowly found hers.  His coarse thumb rubbed circles in her smooth skin.  Gingerly, he uncurled her fingers, before gently returning her own wand back into her hand.  "If you have any misgivings, if you're afraid of me, you can petrify me and return me right back to Azkaban.  My life is once again, in your hands."

She held her own wand numbly in her hand.  Her mind blank, heart pounding in her throat.  Sebastian was so good at convincing Ominis and her to follow his lead while they were in school.  Was this all a mind game?  

She shifted back in her bed until her back met the cool wall of her cottage.  Sebastian stalked forward.  Gently, he gripped her by the chin forcing her to look up. 

As an adult, well-versed in ancient magic, she was seldom afraid, both in her personal life or on the dueling grounds.  She wasn't supposed to be afraid of Sebastian.  She knew what he was capable of.  In a fight, she was confident that she would come out on top.

So why did her heart beat so fast when he was so close to her?

"Scared?"  Sebastian drawled, sensing her unease.  "Nervous even?  No protective prison bars separating you and me."  His breath was hot against her lips as he leaned forward. 

"S-Sebastian."  She whispered.

He pulled back a bit, calculating gaze assessing her expression.  "I might be a criminal, but I'm not a monster."  His brown eyes looked lighter.  "Say that you don't want this.  Say you're disgusted by me and this will all go away."

"Sebastian.  Please."

He surged forward, his mouth meeting hers.  She felt again the familiar wave of helplessness and the surging tide of warmth on her lips.  If she thought their brief kiss in Azkaban was addictive, this was ten times more so.  His insistent mouth was parting her trembling lips, drawing out sweet sensations that she had never felt before.   

She knew, knew that kissing Sebastian Sallow, was a terrible idea.  But the protesting voices of her head were lost to the drum of her hot pulse and the tingle of her ready lips.

They broke apart, gasping for air.  His arms curved protectively around her, nestling his nose into the crook of her neck.  He smiled into her hair.  He was home.  

He would do anything in his power to make sure that he would stay.

Part 2

[choccy-milky]

another seb screenshot redraw between work (credit to yukihon_d on twitter!)

[hexnovo]

Hey folks, I can finally release a few illustration I made last spring for Casket Dealer's debut EP Letters from the dead, featuring some martyrs.

You can find prints here and preorder the album here

[sinsydia]

sebastian on his way down to stardew valley (..to destroy sam at pool)

🏍

[sosa2imagines]

My doll...

Disclaimer- Something my pervert brain thought about, I hope you all enjoy. Warning- Soft dark Bucky, smut, possessiveness, jealousy, 5.3k words.

Bucky Barnes had always been a man of few words. A soldier by nature, a soldier by habit. But it was something about you that had always made him feel like he was at a crossroads with himself, like his life could go one way or another depending on whether or not he could ever find the courage to speak up.

The first time he realized he was in love with you, it wasn’t a dramatic moment. There were no bells, no grand gestures. It wasn’t like he had a clear, defining thought of this is it. It was quieter than that. He was sitting next to you in the Avengers’ compound, watching you work on some new project you had thrown yourself into, fingers deftly moving over wires and circuits. Your brow furrowed in concentration, lips parted in that way that made him want to reach out and touch you.

He never had before, of course he was too afraid of ruining the friendship, too afraid of making things weird.

And that was how it had always been. Quiet. Unspoken.

But even with those feelings slowly building, Bucky stayed quiet. He watched you from the edges, from the safety of his distance, telling himself that if you ever really loved him, you’d say it first. He couldn’t risk the possibility of losing you altogether. So, he waited. And waited. And waited.

Tonight, was supposed to be like any other. A rare night off from their duties. No mission on the horizon, no danger lurking around every corner. The team wasn’t together, except for you. You suggested going to a bar nearby for a drink and a break from the constant grind of life in the compound. Bucky had decided, almost reluctantly, to say yes.

Bucky had, of course, known you cared. In all the small moments, like how you would always check in on him, ask him about his dreams or how he was really feeling. And the way your eyes lingered on him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

I know you love me, he thought. I know it.

But Bucky never had the nerve to say it out loud. And now, here he was, sitting across from you at the bar, staring into his glass of whiskey, wishing he could just reach out and touch your hand without the world falling apart around him.

He was far too aware of how close you were, and yet how far away you still seemed.

You were laughing, your voice light and full of life. You always seemed to shine brighter when you were in this mood, the weight of the world lifted, even if only for a moment. But Bucky could see the flickers of doubt in your eyes. Could see the way you kept looking over at him, waiting for something.

Maybe tonight was the night you’d say it. Maybe tonight you’d do what Bucky couldn’t bring himself to do.

But as he watched you, a strange feeling began to take hold. A spark of jealousy. It was a ridiculous thing, he knew. But it wasn’t about you. It wasn’t about the way you looked at other people—it was about the way you looked at him and didn’t say anything. Didn’t do anything.

It was then that a woman approached him.

Bucky didn’t want to be rude. He’d never been the type to just turn someone down, but when the woman slid onto the seat next to him, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him, he didn’t feel the usual discomfort. Instead, he felt an odd sense of power and control, maybe.

She was bold, confident. The way she laughed, the way she touched his arm, the way she spoke to him, it all felt like a challenge. A test. And before he could stop himself, he realized something. He wasn’t afraid of this woman. He wasn’t uncomfortable.

But you were.

He saw the way you stiffened in your seat, the way your smile faltered. You hadn’t said a word, but Bucky could tell, he knew. You were jealous.

And for some reason, that made his heart pound. A dark thought crept into his mind, ‘Maybe this is how it’ll happen. Maybe I can make you admit it. Maybe I can get you to finally say what we both know is true.’

The woman leaned in closer, her fingers brushing his. Her breath was warm against his ear as she whispered, “So, what do you say? Care to dance?”

Bucky glanced at you once more. You were still staring at him, but now, there was a mix of frustration and hurt in your eyes. His breath caught in his throat. He should stop this. He should turn away. But a dangerous impulse surged through him.

“Sure.” he said, standing up without another word, letting the woman take his hand and pull him toward the dance floor.

He could hear your breath hitch from across the room. He could feel your gaze burning and intense. But he didn’t break. Not yet.

They moved in close as the music shifted, her body pressed against his. It was all a game now, a game Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to play but couldn’t help himself from continuing. Every move he made, every gesture, was designed to make you feel something. To make you feel what he had felt for so long ‘the ache.’ The longing. The desperate desire for something more.

But as they danced, his thoughts were on you. Only you. And all the ways he had hurt you without ever realizing it.

You were standing now, getting your things, heading for the door. And Bucky’s chest clenched as he realized something. He couldn’t let you go. Not like this. Not anymore.

“We are done!” he said to the woman, his voice sharp as he brushed past her, heading toward you.

The cool night air hit him as he caught up to you just outside the bar.

“Doll, wait,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “Where are you going?”

You didn’t turn around, didn’t even slow down. “I’m going back to the compound, Bucky. I’m done.” Your voice was quiet, but it was laced with finality. “I’m done pretending. Done watching you with her.”

“I’m going back to the compound,” you repeated, your voice a little too calm, too controlled. “I need to clear my head. I think I’ll go check in with Steve.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you felt the shift in the air. Bucky froze.

You hadn’t expected it, Bucky was always so controlled, so guarded. But there was something in his eyes now. Something darker. The breath you’d taken in to steady yourself suddenly caught in your throat.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was low, tight with barely contained emotion. His grip on your wrist tightened, and you could see his jaw clench, the muscles beneath his skin rippling with barely restrained anger. “You’re going back to Steve?”

You nodded slowly, avoiding his gaze. You had no idea why, but you couldn’t meet his eyes right now. Maybe it was because you could feel his anger building, and it made you uneasy.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound indifferent, but even to your own ears, the words felt hollow. “I’ll be fine, Bucky. I just need some space.”

You tried to pull away, but his grip on your wrist tightened, pulling you back toward him. His eyes locked onto yours, and there was something in the depths of his gaze something primal that made your breath catch.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled, his voice rough, his tone clipped. “You’re not going back to Steve. Never ever!”

His hand moved to your other wrist, and before you could protest, he spun you around, backing you up against the cold brick wall of the alley. You gasped at the suddenness of it, the sharp heat of his body pressing against you. The force of it left you breathless, but it wasn’t just the physical contact that left you feeling winded, it was the storm swirling in Bucky’s eyes.

“I don’t care about your games, doll,” Bucky continued, his voice now a dangerous whisper. “I don’t care if you’re trying to protect yourself or play it safe. You don’t get to walk away from this. Not after all these months. Not after I’ll final say what I should’ve said the first goddamn time I saw you.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as Bucky’s breath came faster now, his face inches from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the anger and frustration practically crackling in the air between you. His hand was on the wall next to your head, caging you in, his body pressing into yours like he was trying to hold you there, to make you listen.

“Don’t you dare go back to Steve!” he snarled. “I know what you’re trying to do. I know what you’re hiding from. But don’t you dare tell me you’re choosing him. Not when we both know what’s between us.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, a jolt of panic rising up in your chest. You had to get away from him, from this. But somehow, the words felt wrong. He was right. Something had shifted tonight, everything had shifted tonight. And the more you tried to run from it, the more you realized that you were just as tangled up in it as he was.

You shook your head, trying to pull away from his grip. “Bucky, stop. Just stop.”

But he didn’t. His hand moved from the wall to your face, cupping your jaw with surprising gentleness. His thumb stroked over your skin, the touch almost tender despite the fury that was still burning in his eyes. It was like he was trying to hold on to you, trying to keep you from slipping away.

“I’ve spent months pretending I didn’t want you,” Bucky muttered, his voice low and raw. “I’ve spent months watching you with him, keeping my distance, telling myself it was enough just being close to you, just being around you. But it’s never been enough, Doll. It’s never been enough, and I can’t do it anymore.”

“I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, neither of you moved. The world stood still.

You swallowed hard, fighting the surge of emotions that were building inside you, fighting the tears threatening to break free. You had never seen Bucky like this so raw, so vulnerable, so… angry. It terrified you, but in a way, it also made you realize just how deeply he cared for you. How much he had always cared for you.

His grip on your face tightened, but there was no anger in his eyes now, only something softer, something that made your heart beat even faster. “I don’t want to claim you, Doll. I want to have you. I want you to choose me.”

Before you could respond, Bucky’s lips crashed into yours again, desperate and urgent. It was no longer a question, no longer a plea. It was an answer. His hands slid to your back, pulling you into him with such force that you could feel his heart racing against yours.

The kiss was everything every unspoken word, every hidden desire, every emotion they had both kept buried for so long. Bucky was done hiding, done pretending, and as you kissed him back with equal fervor, you knew there was no going back from this.

“Don’t go back to him,” Bucky whispered against your lips, his voice thick with need. “I’m not letting you go.”

You didn’t know what to say. The words felt like they were stuck in your throat. You had always thought you’d have time to figure this out, but now that the truth was out there between you, out there between him, you knew that there was no more time for pretending. No more time for games.

You pressed closer to him, your hands threading through his hair as you kissed him again, and in that moment, you realized there was only one thing that truly mattered.

Bucky dragged you in the room at the backside of the bar.

Without warning, he pins you against the wall, his body pressing against yours. His hands cup your face, holding your gaze captive.

He presses himself closer, one thigh between your legs. His hands move from your face to your hips, gripping them firmly. His lips graze your ear as he speaks, his voice a low grumble. “I'm going to show you exactly how much I want you, right here, right now.”

His mouth closes on your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. You feel his fingers slipping under the hem of your tee, tracing a path of fire along your waist. “I've wanted you for so long, you have no idea. Watching you, smelling your scent, feeling your touch... it's been driving me crazy.”

His lips move down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of hot kisses along the way. One of his hands moves up to cup your breast, his thumb gently circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra.

You let out a gasp, arching into his touch. Your body is responding to his every move, awakening a need you've kept buried for far too long. Bucky smiles against your skin, enjoying the way he's unraveling you piece by piece.

“You like that, don't you? Feeling my hands on you, my mouth on your skin.” He whispers in your ear before capturing your earlobe between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to send a shiver down your spine.

His other hand slides under your skirt, trailing up your thigh, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Your breath hitches, your legs growing weak as Bucky's touch becomes more and more brazen.

He chuckles lowly, satisfied to see you coming undone under his hands. “You're so responsive... so sensitive. I love seeing you like this, completely at my mercy.”

He spins you around, pressing your front against the wall. You feel his weight press into your back, his hands roaming everywhere, claiming you as his own.

“I'm going to make you mine, here and now. There's no stopping this, no denying what's been boiling between us for so damn long.”

His lips find the nape of your neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin. His free hand slides down your stomach, resting just at the waistband of your panties. The contact is almost too much, your mind reeling from the barrage of sensations.

“I want you so badly... Can I have you? Right here, right now?” He asks, his voice a deep, raspy whisper. He's poised on the edge, waiting for your answer, his body tense with anticipation.

You can't find the words to speak, too overwhelmed by the storm of emotions and sensations he's stirring within you. Instead, you respond by arching your back, pressing yourself against him, wordlessly signaling your consent.

Bucky lets out a guttural growl, the sound filling the air. He doesn't need anything more than that. His hands move with newfound urgency, peeling away the layers of fabric separating you from him.

He turns you around, his expression darkened with desire. He looks at you hungrily, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. His hands run up your sides, tracing the curves of your body, committing every detail to memory.

“You're so beautiful... So goddamn perfect.” His words are punctuated by small, lingering kisses along your collarbone, across your chest, down along your stomach. You're lost in the sensation, your body on fire under his touch.

He sinks to his knees in front of you, his lips continuing their exploration of your body. He kisses and nips at the tender skin of your inner thighs, teasing and tantalizing you with every touch.

“I want to taste you... I need to taste you...” He husks, his hands wrapping around your hips, pulling you closer. You can feel his breath on your core, hot and eager, making you shiver in anticipation.

His tongue darts out, tasting you lightly, just enough to send a rush of pleasure through you. You gasp, your fingers threading into his hair, holding him close. Bucky smiles against your flesh, enjoying how responsive you are to his ministrations.

He alternates between soft, almost chaste kisses and more firm, calculated licks. He's enjoying the taste of you, the sounds of your moans and gasps. His hands grip your thighs, holding you firm while his mouth works magic, making you moan obscenely.

“You taste so good... Better than I ever imagined.” He lifts his gaze, meeting your eyes. The raw hunger in his expression takes your breath away.

You want to speak, but your mind is a jumbles mess, unable to form a coherent word.

“You're driving me crazy, doll. I want to devour you, to make you mine in every way possible.”

And then he does. He dives in, his mouth devouring you in a frenzy of passion determined to bring you closer to the edge.

Your gasps turn into cries of pleasure, your body writhing under his skilful mouth.  Bucky's hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he brings you closer to your climax.

The world seems to spin around you, your senses overwhelmed by the pleasure Bucky is giving you. He's relentless, pushing you higher and higher, determined to give you more than you ever dreamed of.

His tongue works relentlessly, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive you wild. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails biting into his flesh, anchoring you on the ground.

Just as your were about to come, Bucky suddenly pulls away, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. He climbs to his feet, pinning you against the wall once again

“I need to be inside you... Now.”

He's barely able to get the words out, his voice thick with need. He captures your mouth in a fierce kiss, his hands already pushing your skirt up around your waist.

His body presses against yours, the hard length of him rubbing against your core. You can feel the heat and strength of him, the evidence of his desire poking you.

“I need you, need this... I need you now..” He repeats the words like a mantra, his lips trailing along your jaw, your neck, your ear.

He pulls you around, turning you to face the wall once again. You feel the cool surface against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body behind you.

“I'm not going to be gentle.” He warns, his hands gripping your hips, pulling them back against him.

You feel him against you, hard and eager, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hips move against yours, and you can feel just how much he wants you, how badly he needs you.

“Can you take it? Can you handle me like this?” He asks, one hand traveling up your spine, his fingers tracing the line of your vertebrae. His touch is demanding, possessive, but somehow still tender, as if he's afraid he'll hurt you.

You manage to nod, too far gone with pleasure to form words. Bucky lets out a low, satisfied sound, his mouth nipping at your shoulder as his hand slides around to your front.

He cups your breast, his thumb grazing over your nipple, teasing and provoking.

“I'm going to take you, right here, just like this.” He growls, his hips pressing against yours.

You can feel him against you, his body poised and ready, the tip of his cock, teasing your entrance. “Are you ready for me?” He asks, his lips against your ear, his breath hot and urgent.

You can only manage a small, breathless moan in response, your body yearning for him to take you, to make you his own.

“I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want me... That you need me...” His words are a needy, almost desperate plea, his self-control hanging by a thread.

You find your voice, forcing the words out despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. “I want you... I need you... Please...”

“That's all I needed to hear.” The words are a rough, guttural grunt, the last vestiges of his restraint snapping. He positions himself behind you, the head of him rubbing against your entrance.

His hands grip your hips again, holding you in place. He's so close, so very close... But still, he waits, wanting to make sure you're ready for the next step.

“Just tell me if it's too much, okay? If I go too far, I want to know.” He whispers the words, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability, a hint of doubt, despite the powerful, animalistic way he's holding you.

You nod, your body thrumming with anticipation. You trust him, trust him not to hurt you, and that trust makes all the difference. You push back against him, signaling your readiness in the most primal way possible.

He lets out a low, gravelly moan, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He needs this as much as you do, maybe even more. “God, I can't wait any longer...”

He pushes forward, slowly, carefully. He's being as gentle as he can be, wanting to give you time to adjust to the intrusion. But it's torture for him, the heat, the tightness, the way you're clenching and squeezing him, enveloping him in a way he's never felt before.

“You're so damn tight... So perfect...” He groans the words, his body moving involuntarily, the pleasure too much to resist. His hands grip your hips tighter, his mouth trailing kisses along your back, your shoulders, your neck. He can't get enough of you, his body moving in a rhythm that's old as time itself.

“You feel so good. I never knew it could be like this.” He mutters the words against your skin, his voice thick with ecstasy.

He picks up the pace, his body moving more urgently now, following the pull of pleasure that's driving him onward. His hands are everywhere, caressing and touching, worshiping every inch of you like a man possessed.

“I could stay inside you forever. I never want to let you go.” He murmurs the words into your ear, his voice ragged and broken. He's lost in the moment, in the pleasure, in you.

You reach a hand back, tangling your fingers into his hair, holding onto him like an anchor in the storm. All the rights and wrongs, thrown out of the window.

“Don't let go... Don't ever let go.” He whispers, his lips finding your neck, the skin there already tender from his earlier attentions. His movements become rougher, more frenzied, as if he's desperate to get even closer to you, to merge himself with you in every way possible.

“I need you... I need you so damn much...” The words are a broken chant, gasped into your ear, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

He's moving even faster now, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the air, the only break in the silence apart from your moans and gasps. The pleasure is building, growing stronger and stronger with every thrust, threatening to consume you both. You can feel yourself close to the edge, teetering on the very precipice of ecstasy. Bucky knows it too, he can sense it, sense the mounting tension in your body.

“You're close... I can feel it. I'm so close...” He growls the words, his voice tight with the effort to hold back, to keep control for just a little while longer.

“I want to hear you say it... I want you to let go... Tell me you're mine.” His voice is harsh and ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his release.

You struggle to find the words, to form a coherent thought amidst the haze of pleasure. “Y-yours.. I'm... Yours...”

The words send a wave of pleasure through Bucky, his hips twitching involuntarily at the sound of your surrender. “Say it again... I need to hear it again…”

“Yours... I'm yours, Bucky... All yours...” You gasp the words, your voice quivering with the force of your ecstasy.

That's all it takes. Your surrender, your declaration of ownership, it breaks the dam that's been holding him back. “Mine... You're mine... All mine...” He repeats the words like a mantra, his body moving with a new fervor, a new intensity.

“Steve won’t take care of you like I can.” He thrust, “All I have to do is…” he hits you with another powerful thrust, messing up with your senses. “Make a sad face and remind him of my past!” He hits another powerful thrust, and the voice you make is between a cry and a moan. “He will happily give you to me!”

He buries his face in your neck, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. When he speaks again, his voice is a possessive, guttural growl, thick with desire. “And don't you ever forget it.”

His lips find yours again, claiming your mouth in a kiss that's hard and demanding. He's drowning in you, in this moment, the world around you reduced to nothing but the heat and the friction and the pleasure.

He's close, so close, but he won't give in, won't let go until he's brought you to your release, until he's given you everything he can give.

“Come for me, doll... Let go... Give yourself to me... I want to feel it, feel you...” His words are a rough, ragged plea, a demand made out of pure need. He's holding back, waiting for you to reach your peak, his body taut and trembling with the effort to hold back his own pleasure.

You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, balanced between light and dark, pleasure and pain, sanity and madness.

“Let go... Just let go... I've got you...” The words, the promise, they're enough to push you over the edge. You shatter, your body arching against his, a cry of ecstasy tears from your lungs. The world spins around you, your release crashing through you like a tsunami, leaving you breathless and trembling.

Bucky's there, holding you against him, his arms wrapping around, holding you up, keeping you from collapse. He's still hard inside you, so close to his own climax.

“God, you're so perfect... I've never experienced anything like this before...” His voice is gruff and broken, his breath hot against your neck as he pulls you flush against him. He lets out a low, guttural moan, his body trembling with need and restraint. “I need you.... I need to let go... you will let me come in you, won’t you? You will be a good girl for me, right doll?”

You nod, your body still thrumming with pleasure as you push back against him, signaling your absent-minded consent.

“You're going to be the death of me, woman...” His words are a rough whisper, a promise and a threat all at once. His grip tightens around you, his body tense and coiled like a spring. “Just a little more... just a little longer... I need to give you everything...”

He buries his face in your hair, his breath coming in jagged pants now, his body taut and trembling with the effort to hold back just a little longer.

“Almost there.... almost... I'm so close...” The words are a ragged gasp.

He let out a low, guttural groan, his body tensing against yours, his arms pulling you tight against him. “God, I... I can't... I'm...” he doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, he buries his face in your hair, muffling his moan against your shoulder as his body tightens and spasms, his release washing over him like a tide, powerful and consuming.

He holds you close as he comes down, his body trembling with the aftershocks, his breath warm against your skin. “God... that was... incredible...” The words are a rough whisper, his voice thick with emotion. He presses a tender kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin, as if he can't bear to let you go for even a moment.

He tightens his arms around you, pulling you flush against him, as if he can't bear to have you any further than an inch away from him. “You're amazing, you know that?”

He nuzzles your neck, his lips leaving tender kisses along the sensitive skin there. He's so gentle, so different from the rough, desperate man who'd been consumed by need a few moments ago. As he sees his release dripping from between your legs, his eyes darken, making him feel more possessive about you.

“Mine...” He mutters the word against your skin, his voice thick with possessiveness. He knows it's probably a bit irrational, but he can't help it. He needs to express his claim over you, his desire to protect and own you in every way imaginable.

He then moves his fingers on your thigh, collecting some of his release on his fingers, bringing them closer to your mouth, a silent order.

You know what he wants, what he's demanding, even if he doesn't say the words aloud. Your eyes meet his, holding his gaze, as you slowly bring your hand up to wrap around his wrist, drawing his fingers into your mouth.

“Good girl…” He murmurs the words as he watches you, his eyes darkened by a possessive, primal need. He loves how submissive you are in this moment, how willing and eager you are to please him.

He holds your chin, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips, feeling the glide of his own release against them. “You have no idea what you do to me, doll. You make me lose all control. And I love it…”

He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that's equal parts tender and possessive. He can taste himself on your lips, and the thought just makes him want you more, more fiercely than before.

He pulls back enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath coming faster now, his body stirring once more. “I swear, doll, you're going to be the death of me...”

He captures your lips again, kissing you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, marking you as his in every way he can think of.

Little do you know, about the real possessiveness he feels about you. Bucky is already planning to take you far away from everyone. To keep you all to himself. While you are already lost in the kiss and afterglow of the sex, Bucky is already planning about the future.

He kisses you again, with a fierce intensity, his hands roaming over your body, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of you. He's thinking of all the ways he wants to have you, all the ways he wants to make you his. He's already made up his mind. You're not just a passing fancy, or a distraction. You're his now, and he's not going to let you go. Not ever.

He then sits on the couch with you, while you rest in his arms, he picks out his phone preparing to take you away. He types out a quick message, his hands still caressing your skin, his eyes never leaving your face.

He's arranging for a secure location, somewhere remote, somewhere he can keep you safe and, more importantly, all to himself.

“My doll.”

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[charliemwrites]

Part 2!

Finally finished moving house so hopefully I’ll be updating semi-regularly again.

Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputin’s backstory (injury and illness)

Agatha is over again.

You don’t know why. She doesn’t like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She “keeps tabs” on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.

A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. It’s so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.

Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.

“I know your generation is different but that’s just not the type of neighborhood we live in,” she’s saying.

You’re a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and haven’t registered much of anything she’s said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.

“What do you mean?” you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesn’t buy it.

She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You don’t feel scolded, but you sense that you’re supposed to.

“Now you know just what I mean. People will talk.”

People always talk, it’s an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, you’ve never understood all the chatter.

“Talk about… the buttercups?” you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. You’re quite proud of them actually.

Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. “You ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.”

You blink. Men…?

A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think it’s cursing.)

Ah. Those men.

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.”

It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you don’t need to justify.

“I’d rather they didn’t feel welcome,” she snips. “Better they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.”

You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.

“They’re nice,” you say. Nice to look at. Krueger’s face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.

“The only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,” Agatha snaps. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.

“Well,” you muse, “better to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.”

That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when it’s just you and the cats.

“You’ve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.”

You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as “young lady” in that insufferably condescending tone. You can’t wait for that day.

Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet “teaching” tone.

“Neighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. That’s why the farmers plant them that way.”

You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agatha’s lips get thin.

“Best that you stay on this side of the street, missy. That’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You don’t even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as “Off Limits” makes them instantly more appealing.

Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.

It’s nearly sundown when there’s a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.

Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.

“Oh!” Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. “Hallo, Bubchen!”

And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. You’ve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.

And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.

Guy is purring away in Konig’s thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Krueger’s tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.

Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.

“So… the cookies were good then?”

“Very good!” Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.

“We have no baking or cooking skills,” Krueger continues, “so tell us what needs fixing.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. It’s surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. “You don’t need to do that, I was just-“

“Is custom,” Nikto interrupts.

Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect he’s going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)

“In our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,” he explains.

You arch your brows playfully. “I don’t remember inviting you to be guests.”

He arches his brows right back. “We did not invite you either.”

Well shit.

“Okay, okay. I guess there’s a couple things…”

Konig perks up. “We would be happy to help, Biene!”

It’s strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, can’t remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.

There’s a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. It’s not just that they’re big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. There’s a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe it’s in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe it’s the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.

Whatever it is, you couldn’t ignore them if you tried. And you’re definitely not trying.

You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet you’ve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method you’ve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.

Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesn’t run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when he’s set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.

You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that he’s invading your personal space. He’s not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.

“It’s not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,” you explain.

He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.

“What happened?” he asks.

You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.

“I’m not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.”

You sigh, scratching at Rasputin’s chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.

“The vet said that that’s probably from a fight with another cat,” you add.

Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. That’s as good an indication as any that Nikto’s probably safe enough.

“I ran down from an office building to save him.” You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. “But anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.”

When you glance up from Rasputin’s happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though you’re not embarrassed.

“I’ll, um, get out of the way,” you say, clearing your throat. “Keep an eye on things, Ras.”

With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.

You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure it’s not too early to start dinner.

“Will I be in the way if I start cooking?” you ask Krueger.

He flicks you a dimissive glance. “A little thing like you?”

You scoff and cross to the fridge. “You could have just said no.”

“Nein,” he snorts.

Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.

There’s meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - that’ll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully you’ll have enough to satisfy their appetites.

“So what’s the plan with the house?” you ask as you get to work. “Just fixing it up to sell or…?”

“We will live there, the three of us,” Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shithead’s batting paws. “Somewhere to stay when we are not working.”

You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still… getting to know people, right?

It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You can’t imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.

“Are you guys military?”

“Contractor,” Krueger corrects.

You perk up. “Wait, really?”

He scowls. “Does it sound like a joke?”

You huff and turn back to the veggies you’re cutting. “No, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?”

He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.

“Yes,” he answers slowly.

“Then… could you maybe answer some questions…?”

His eyes narrow. “Questions?”

You keep your gaze on the cutting board. “Okay, wait, it's not suspicious. I’m a writer and it’s hard to google very specific questions sometimes. It’s just easier to ask an expert in person.”

Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things aren’t accurate.

He makes a considering noise. “A writer?”

You flush. “That’s what I do. Why I’m always home? I publish fiction.”

He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task you’ve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.

“And your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and ‘things’?” he asks.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Sometimes…”

“Fine. I will answer your questions,” he allows.

You beam. “Thank you!”

He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.

“What else needs doing?”

Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesn’t feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.

Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. He’s much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.

You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, there’s no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a “real” job.

Before you know it, the moon is high and you’re sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.

You tell yourself it’s not anticipation that goes through you, knowing they’ll be back with it soon.

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[vectorisheree]

Sebastian's first bath <3